


Between Our Love

by DreamsAreMyWords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Banter, Clarke Lexa and Costia best friends, Clexa, Clexa Endgame, Clexa Happy Ending, Clexa Surrogacy AU, Costia is established as deceased before this fic, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gestational Surrogacy, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Healing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Linctavia - Freeform, Love, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Not exactly a kid fic because Clarke's just pregnant, Only One Bed, Pregnancy, Road Trips, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smut, past lexa/costia, ranya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/pseuds/DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: She's still wearing her dress from the funeral when she discovers she's pregnant.Or:The Clexa Surrogacy AU, where Clarke is Lexa and Costia's best friend and offers to be their gestational surrogate when they discover they can't have kids; then Costia dies and Lexa and Clarke are left to pick up the pieces.





	1. Gold Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to geyranger for her headcanons basically helping me breathe this into life, to clexabookmarks for constantly chatting through it with me, encouraging me and threatening me if there isn't an adequate amount of fluff to balance out the angst, to thessclexa and theproseofnight for chatting through it with me and perusing my word docs and helping me out, to queerlexark and agoddamnsupernova for tolerating my shitty snapchats of teasers with enthusiasm, and to everyone on tumblr who's sent kind supportive messages. Much love for you all, you're what makes this fandom feel like a second family. Also, shout out to my wife. The only fandom you're a part of is Chelsea FC haha, but it never stops you from reading my work just to make me happy. I love you! x
> 
> Title is from Ocean by Martin Garrix feat. Khalid.
> 
>  
> 
> Ps I will have multiple links spread throughout this fic. If something is underlined, I have an edit accompanying it. Give it a click and it'll show you the picture.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s still wearing her dress from the funeral when she discovers she’s pregnant.

 

> _Tell me what you're crying for  
>  _ _I'll wipe your tears, oh love  
>  _ _If your soul is aching love  
>  _ _We'll comfort you for sure  
>  _ _If we're caught in a wave, I will carry you over  
>  _ _It don't matter where you are, I'll run to your front door_ _  
> __-Ocean by Martin Garrix feat. Khalid_[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDocp-VpCwY)

 

* * *

 

_The Funeral- June 15th, 2018_

 

She’s still wearing her dress from the funeral when she discovers she’s pregnant.

 

Early on the morning of her best friend’s funeral, Clarke lies awake long before her alarm ever goes off, staring listlessly up at the ridged plaster of the ceiling. She’s trapped in a state of dull disbelief that life is a thing still happening, and remains there even when the obnoxious shrill of her alarm pierces the silence of her empty house. When she shuts it off, she pauses to scan her eyes over the text messages she’d sent last night, one to Costia and one to Lexa. One was a goodbye, an entreaty, a voice to the void. One was a tentative reminder that she’s here if she needs anything. Both went unanswered.

 

Clarke allows herself ten minutes to remain unmoving, letting the dread wash over her, soaking in it. Costia is dead, but it hasn’t sunk in yet. Clarke’s throat feels as though it’s been permanently constricted for the past three days, since she first received the call from her mother and words percolated in fragmented sentences. Car crash. Drunk driver. Instant death. No suffering.

 

It’s frightening, how many synonyms there are for _gone._

 

She lifts her hand and flattens it on her chest. Feels the steady whir of her heart beneath her palm. It’s been like this for three days, too. Almost like it’s working double-time to compensate for the stillness of Costia’s. Well. Costia’s doesn’t even exist anymore, beyond the metaphorical sense. It’s nothing but ashes now.

 

That’s enough. Clarke can’t stand thinking about it anymore. She takes a shallow breath and drags herself out of bed and into the bathroom to ready herself for the day. She grabs a fresh towel and flicks the bathroom lights on and comes to a halt the moment her eyes land on the boxes lined up on the countertop. Realization hits her like a bucket of ice water and she drops her towel.

 

_Today is the day._

 

Her breath freezes and expands in her lungs and for one spiraling moment she thinks she might pass out—the sound of her strangled gasp is muted, black creeps toward the edges of her vision, and she braces herself against the counter, staring at her reflection in the toothpaste-flecked mirror. All the color has drained from her face, her tongue feels like sandpaper, and her chest actually hurts with the impact of a heart squeezed tight.

 

A week ago there was nothing but excitement for this day. It’s been a year since they first started planning this and today is the day they could finally get their answer but now all she feels is dread.

 

She can’t deal with this. She has to be at the cemetery in two hours and she wants to be there early. She can compartmentalize. Right now the most important thing she needs to be doing is scrubbing shampoo into dirty hair she hasn’t properly washed in a few days. She mechanically readies herself; gets dressed and slips today's vial into her bra to get warm, brushes her teeth, applies her makeup, fixes her hair, removes the vial to give herself her progesterone shot without so much as a blink, and through all of this she is flat-out ignoring the boxes on the counters; when she slaps the light switch off before she leaves she refuses to look back. They’ll be right there waiting for her when she returns.

 

It doesn’t feel real when she makes the drive to the cemetery. The early morning fog hangs thick and heavy over the hills, swallowing any light the day may have lent. The gnarled old trees of the cemetery loom out of it, sombre and gray, followed by the spikes of the cast iron fences. She’s grateful when she finds her mother, in tears and clutching the hands of Mr and Mrs McIver, Costia’s parents, who stand ashen-faced and grief-stricken. Rojay lingers near them, his entire little frame quivering as much as his jutted out lower lip. Clarke meets his tearful brown eyes and fights the tears trying to slip freely from her own eyes. She hugs them all, holds Ro tighter when he clings to her. She doesn’t know what to say. This is different than anything she’d ever known yet also somehow exactly the same. There are never any words for this. It’s what she struggled with last night, when it took her an hour to compose a seven word text.

 

She catches a glimpse of her—off in the distance, away from the crowd. Their eyes meet briefly, and Clarke’s heart feels as hollow as the lack of light in those green eyes. Lexa turns away and stands alone and the crowd lets her. She’s a statuesque silhouette in the fog, her arms wrapped around herself and her head bowed, and there’s something beautiful and so, so sad about the elegant arch to her neck, exposed from chestnut hair pulled up in a tidy bun. Clarke feels stupid for thinking that a moment later when it sinks in. Of course there’s something sad about it. There’s something sad and goddamn tragic about all of this. Costia is dead at twenty-eight and Lexa is a widow now. Costia’s parents lost their only daughter, all because a retired history teacher decided to go on a week-long bender and get behind the wheel.

 

The anger ripples through Clarke so fiercely she sways where she stands. She takes Raven’s hand when it’s wordlessly offered. She clenches it tightly as they file into the church and stand before the pews. She keeps holding it as she listens to the pastor wax sonnets about how full of love Costia was in her short life, as Costia’s friends and coworkers laugh and cry through funny anecdotes and meaningful tales, as Costia’s family break down as they remember their most precious moments with her. She listens to everyone but mostly tunes in to Lexa’s shallow breathing from where she stands a few people to her right, Abby and the McIvers between them. Lexa is pale and her lower lip is trembling and there are dark shadows under her eyes; she probably hasn’t slept for three days now. Clarke itches to move toward her, but she holds back, uncertain whether Lexa would welcome it. They are friends, but they’ve never been the physically affectionate type. As a matter of fact, Clarke has only ever seen Lexa physically affectionate with one person, and that person is gone now.

 

Lincoln speaks next, and though his eyes are bright and puffy, his voice never wavers from its usual steady tenor as he talks about the cousin who was more like a sister to him and grows lost in the stories. Lincoln is typically so quiet and easy-going that it’s strange to see him so animated and emotional. There’s an intensity to his gaze and his method of delivering his eulogy that carves the tear tracks lining his face without shame; he wears them like war paint and does not pause to wipe at them as he tells about the time he and Costia were children and she saved him from a thrashing from the neighborhood bullies by booting a wasp hive at them like it was a football. The crowd laughs and even Costia’s parents and brother give watery chuckles; everyone laughs except for Lexa, who looks more lost than ever, and Clarke, who is watching her in concern.

 

Anya follows after Lincoln, and though her speech is far shorter and dryer than his, the pain in her voice is no less palpable as she recounts the very first time she met Costia, when Lexa brought her around for dinner and Costia begged to see childhood pictures. Luna speaks after her, crying through her story about how Costia always accidentally tipped the boat over whenever they went fishing as children. Indra speaks briefly with a stiff posture and severe expression about her favorite personal essay Costia ever turned in, which involved the time she was six years old and wrote letters she rolled up and crammed into milk jugs and threw into a pond in the hopes someone somewhere in the world would find it. Indra never cracks a smile, but the crowd does it for her.

 

Costia’s parents approach the podium next and there’s not a dry eye in the room as Mrs McIver struggles to speak and eventually dissolves into incoherent sobs, collapsing in her husband’s arms, which consequently has Rojay breaking down as well, face screwed up and hands clenched in thin little fists. A few other relatives rush to console them and there’s general commotion in the room for a moment as people offer gentle encouragement. Clarke leans around her mother to catch a glimpse of Lexa to see how she’s responding to this. The lump in her throat solidifies at what she sees. Lexa’s eyes are bright but tears aren’t falling, and she’s standing tall but every inch of her is quaking.

 

Clarke can no longer bear it; her heart aches for her, and Lexa is her friend, and Clarke imagines if Costia were here she would want someone to take the step and comfort her, so Clarke reaches out before she can second-guess herself. The people around them don’t react as Clarke silently slips around Abby and takes the space previously occupied by the McIvers. Lexa does not even look at her when she slips a hand into hers, but after a moment of initial startlement, she clutches on like a lifeline.

 

The McIvers manage to pull themselves together enough for one last beautiful eulogy. Any others who wish to say some final words are offered a turn next and Clarke barely hesitates before stepping forward. Standing at the podium, she looks out at all the grieving faces and really contemplates the fact that Costia has touched so many lives. Costia had been an incredible person, one of the best Clarke has ever known, and she had been lucky to know her for many years, since they shared a room during their junior year of college. They oftentimes joked about how she and Clarke complemented one another; Costia was all dark hair and dark eyes with light that shone from her soul like a living sun. Clarke was blonde haired and blue eyed and the human incarnate of the Grumpy Cat. They hated each other for the first few weeks, right up to the moment they bonded over their mutual hatred for a professor and spent a weekend binge-watching Game of Thrones. When they were seniors, they bought woven friendship bracelets with charms for one another at the fair. Clarke wore the stars, Costia wore the sun. They rarely ever took them off. Costia was wearing hers when she died.

 

Clarke has wondered more than once the past few days; if she’d been wearing hers that night, asleep in her bed, could it have changed anything?

 

She takes a deep breath and manages to say a few words. Mostly about how Costia was bright and brilliant and taken far too soon. She casts her gaze around the room, taking in all the familiar faces—many are fellow students she hasn’t seen in years—and lingers on the ones she knows best. Lincoln and Octavia smile in reassurance; Indra is stoic as usual. Abby is somber and watching Clarke with sad eyes, giving her a tremulous smile. Raven gives what is clearly intended to be an encouraging smile but it comes out as more of a grimace, and a subtle thumbs-up from where her hand rests atop her cane. Anya watches her with an inscrutable expression, but gives the barest of nods when Clarke’s gaze passes over her. Costia’s parents are crying silently and Ro's eyes are as big as dinner plates, hanging on to her every word, and Costia’s mother has her arm looped around Lexa, who meets Clarke’s eyes and presses her lips together to stop them from quivering.

 

Afterwards Clarke wobbles back to her seat on shaky legs, relieved it’s over but half torn on whether she should have said more. All anyone has done is talk about Costia and how she blessed the lives of everyone she knew, how she’s in a better place now. It’s all very smooth and neat and Clarke wonders why it grates on her.

 

It must be because when it comes down to it, Costia was a mess. A gorgeous, amazing mess. Clarke wants to talk about that, but there’s a heaviness in her chest and her eyes are stinging and her throat feels like it’s on fire. She’s so tired. She’s tired and Lexa’s hand is cold in her own as she takes it again. Lexa slips an arm around her shoulders and holds her as though she's the one doing the comforting and while Clarke marvels at the irony, she can’t help but to clutch at her, the black fabric of Lexa’s top clenched tightly in her sweaty fist. Clarke leans into the support, grateful for it. Her stomach is churning and thinking about her stomach just makes it churn more.

 

If she had the strength to talk, she thinks she would talk about when they met, how Costia was loud and a morning person and that first semester living together was hell but they managed it. How they became friends soon after, how Costia was there for her when Clarke found out her new boyfriend didn’t bother telling her that he was still dating his high school sweetheart. How it was thanks to Costia that Clarke had found the courage to switch majors, how Costia saw the good and the potential in everyone, how she single-handedly made the first LGBT fundraiser at their university a success and helped make the art show what it was, how Clarke teased her for melting into a soft puddle of gay when Costia first introduced Lexa to her. How Costia and Lexa had already been together for nearly two years before Clarke ever met her because Lexa was out of the country to study abroad but when she returned, Costia seemed more centered and focused. Costia never shut up about her and it was easy to see the feeling was mutual just by the way Lexa looked at her. They were good for each other.

 

Clarke still hasn’t cried yet; Clarke thinks she and Lexa may be the only ones who haven’t today. It’s like they have no tears left. God. She can’t believe this is happening. It’s all so surreal, like it’s happening to someone else, like it’s not really happening at all.

 

The pastor asks if anyone else would like to speak and Lexa takes half a step forward before she hangs her head and shakes it, breaths shallow and ragged. She looks like she’s in shock and everyone near her reaches out; the McIvers grasp a hand, Abby bracingly rubs Lexa’s back, Anya and Raven place a hand on each of her shoulders, and Clarke clutches her other hand. Lexa is barely holding it together and Clarke absently wonders if this could all just be a bad dream. She wishes it were.

 

It still doesn’t feel real even when they troop outside and Clarke stands among the mourning crowd, her head bowed, the lump in her throat nearly choking her as the urn containing the remains of her best friend are deposited in an empty vessel beneath a marble cremation bench. Costia loved sunflowers, so they form a queue and drape single stems on the bench one by one until it’s covered in them. Clarke pauses and kneels down when it’s her turn, taking a moment to fiddle with the urn tucked in the container. When she stands up again, there’s a woven bracelet wrapped delicately around the top, a sun charm gleaming on it. _It’s good night now_ , she thinks. She holds the dangling charm of her own bracelet in her hand as she walks back around to where her mother and Raven wait for her; she holds it so tightly it leaves imprints of stars on the heel of her palm.

 

“This doesn’t feel real,” she admits to her mother, swallowing thickly when Abby just wordlessly pulls her into an embrace.

 

None of it feels real until she finally approaches Lexa. When their eyes meet, Clarke recognizes the shock in them, the numb disbelief. It’s what Clarke is currently experiencing; it’s what she’s experienced herself years ago when her father died. Costia is gone and nothing is the same, but Clarke reaches for Lexa. She catches a glimpse of Lexa’s quivering bottom lip before she pulls her into her embrace and holds her, expelling a shaky breath into the soft chestnut curls that swing forward to frame Lexa’s pallid face. Costia’s death doesn’t really sink in until the moment Lexa clings to her, harsh sobs ripping from her throat like stuttered bullets, tears soaking Clarke’s neck and shoulder.

 

There are still people around them, some murmuring words of consolation to Lexa as they pass by, some dropping brief, gentle touches to Lexa’s back or shoulders as they walk around them; Lexa flinches each time, burrowing deeper into Clarke’s embrace. Clarke is crying hard enough she can barely see any of them anyway, so she follows Lexa’s cue and ignores them all, simply holding her instead. When Lexa finally draws back, briefly squeezes Clarke’s hands, that’s when it feels real.

 

“I’m here for you,” Clarke manages to tell her, voice raspy and broken. She reaches up, puts a hand on Lexa’s shoulder and looks intently into green eyes that appear grayer with tears swimming in them. In their eight years of friendship, Clarke has never seen Lexa cry before this week. “You hear me?”

 

Lexa nods but doesn’t say anything; she’s already avoiding Clarke’s gaze. Lexa has always been uncomfortable with showing her emotions and she’s never been particularly good at it either. Costia used to say Lexa was the poster child for “the eyes are the windows into a person’s soul” and it didn’t take much time spent with the two of them to agree. Right now, it doesn’t take a genius to read her. Lexa is broken and Clarke is her friend and her heart breaks for her because she knows there’s nothing that can help this except time.  
 

The arrivals at the church are staggered, some having lingered longer at the cemetery for a few final goodbyes. It takes nearly a half hour before everyone gathers in the nave again to occupy the pews and listen to the pastor’s final sermon. Clarke wasn’t raised even remotely religious but she appreciates the optimism with which the pastor speaks of Costia’s influence on the world. He’s right, about every bit of it. The world was a better place with Costia in it and Clarke can’t help but wonder how it keeps turning without her.

 

Afterwards most people leave while family members and close friends remain for lunch. They unload the massive amount of food supplied by everyone who attended, and most people catch up with one another and speak fondly of Costia as they eat. Clarke’s stomach tosses again, particularly at the thought of what awaits her at home after the conclusion of the funeral. She glances down the table at Lexa, who hasn’t touched her food. Anya gathered a couple buttered bread rolls on a Styrofoam plate and set it before her, but Lexa’s done nothing more than sip at a bottle of water. The McIvers are sitting between them but Clarke wishes she could be sitting next to her; protectiveness swells within her and she imagines if Costia were here, she’d be devastated with how broken-hearted Lexa is. It’s not a pleasant thought. Clarke hates seeing her friends upset, hates being helpless to fix it.

 

“Honey, you should try to eat something,” her mother tells her in a low voice, nudging the plate of lasagna toward her and looking at her in tender concern.

 

Clarke shakes her head. “I can’t.”

 

Abby doesn’t push.

 

They stick around to help clean up afterwards, packing endless leftovers into the McIvers’ car and then Lexa’s too. The three of them weren’t planning on leaving quite yet, but they at least agreed to go home for a break to drop the food into their fridges before returning. Anya presses a kiss to Raven’s cheek, briefly and with a furtive glance at Lexa as though guilty and says she’s staying behind to look after Lexa and she’ll meet Raven at home later. Clarke barely listens to any of them, too busy watching Lexa from the corners of her eyes. She’s been so quiet, often gazing off into the distance, barely even blinking. Clarke doesn’t know what to do, especially regarding what awaits her. In the horror of the past three days, Lexa may have completely forgotten about it. Should Clarke invite her back to her apartment for this? Probably. That was the original plan. No matter the outcome, Costia and Lexa were going to be there and afterwards they were going out to dinner. But now…

 

No. It feels cruel to subject Lexa to that. Clarke doesn’t even know if it worked or not. She doesn’t know whether Lexa will have wanted it to or what her feelings are now. Clarke doesn't even know what her own feelings are. Guilt swirls within her and she wishes she knew what to do.

 

She grips Abby’s arm and tugs Raven around by her sleeve. They look at her and Clarke can barely find the words.

 

“Can you come home with me? I…”

 

They nod before she can even finish the request.

 

They give final hugs to the McIvers and Lexa before they leave. Clarke watches Lexa in her rearview mirror as she drives away. Lexa is already walking toward the grave, clearly ignoring Anya’s attempts to drive her home. Clarke wonders if Anya will successfully convince Lexa to take a break and go home for a bit or if she’ll end up driving herself and unpacking the food in Lexa’s apartment alone before returning to find her at the cemetery.

 

Once they reach her apartment, Clarke is already in tears as she reminds her mother and Raven what today is. Abby doesn’t look surprised and Clarke suspects she’s just been patient because there’s no need to rush, but Raven’s gasp and conflicted expression doesn’t help matters.

 

“But…” Raven shakes her head, mouth open, speechless, and Abby quickly cuts over her.

 

“Let’s take things one step at a time. For now, Clarke, you need to go take those tests.”

 

Clarke nods, and nods again, lump stuck in her throat. Abby’s expression softens.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?”

 

Clarke shakes her head. She can manage peeing on her own. “No, I can do it. I’ll…I’ll see you guys in a minute.”

 

There is almost nothing more terrifying than entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. The silence presses against her ears, but after a moment she can hear Abby and Raven’s muted murmuring from the living room. She tunes them out. She doesn’t want to think about what they could be discussing.

 

She takes a deep breath and, one by one, starts opening the boxes. There are seven in total. Costia and Lexa had both gone to buy some without realizing the other did too, three from Costia and two from Lexa, and Clarke had already bought two as well. Clarke almost smiles at the memory. The three of them had laughed so hard at the ridiculousness of it, seven boxes, until the doctor told them it was actually recommended to take multiple tests. She’d be going in for blood tests and an ultrasound anyway; the box tests were just something the three of them had decided to do.

 

She takes care of business and one by one dips each absorbent tip into the cup, waiting the appropriate amount of seconds before setting it down and pulling a new one. She washes her hands, looks at her pale reflection, glances down at her stomach as though it’ll magically tell her something. Then she waits, pacing. Her heart thunders in her chest, her head spins. She glances at the phone and sees three minutes have long gone by, but she can’t bring herself to look, not yet.

 

God, she doesn’t know which answer she’s more scared to receive. She doesn’t know what any of this means, what Lexa will want. Costia is gone and it’s not fair. It’s _not_ fair. Her face screws up with tears and she sits on the toilet lid, scrubbing her hands over her face as she works on regulating her breathing.

 

“Clarke?”

 

She jumps slightly at her mother’s voice just behind the door, springing to her feet. Her gaze zeroes in on the nearest test, at the pink lines.

 

“Clarke?” Knuckles rap the door again. “Are you all right?”

 

“How’s it going in there?” asks Raven.

 

She stares down at the seven pregnancy tests scattered across her bathroom counter, her palms sweating.

 

“We’re coming in.”

 

She’s still just standing there when Abby and Raven spill into the bathroom; their brows rise at the tests littering the counter. Abby sucks in a breath when she sees the results and she turns to face Clarke, eyes brimming with tears.

 

“Oh, Clarke.”

 

“What? What is it? What do two lines mean?” Raven seizes a box and turns it over to read the back. Her mouth drops open as she looks up. “It worked. You’re—“

 

“Pregnant.” Clarke bites her lip, expelling a shaky breath. She looks between Abby and Raven, torn between a dizzying exhilaration and an icy dread.

 

“Oh, honey.” Abby envelops her in a hug and Raven hits her from the other side.

 

Clarke clings to them, squeezing her eyes shut as tears spill hot and fast over her cheeks. She reaches down to flatten a trembling hand to her stomach, the star charm dangling from her wrist. There’s actual life in there. It’s a crazy thought, especially considering all that she went through to get to this stage. Becoming a gestational carrier was a lengthy process, and this was obviously the end result they’d always hoped for. It was only a week ago she’d been at the fertility clinic to have the embryos transferred to her uterus. It was only five days ago she’d been having dinner with Costia and Lexa, grinning as Costia raved about her plans of motherhood. While Lexa had initially been more uncertain, Costia couldn’t wait to be a mother.

 

Now she’d never get the chance.

 

“I have to tell Lexa,” says Clarke, voice breaking as she pulls back from them. She looks into her mother’s eyes, helpless and anguished. “How do I tell Lexa this?”

 

Abby and Raven are both crying. Abby reaches up to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind Clarke’s ear.

 

“What was the original plan?”

 

“They were—they were supposed to come over for dinner tonight.” Clarke takes a hitched breath, shuddering a sob out. “They were going to come over and I was going to take the tests and we were going to celebrate because Costia knew it would work. Our doctor said we could take these tests a week after the transfer but after ten days I’m supposed to get a blood test, and then another one a few days later, and then—then I’m supposed to get an ultrasound in a month to confirm. They were going to come with me every time. I don’t know what—I don’t know. I don’t know what to do now. Costia was—Costia—it’s not fair. It’s not fair, Mom, why isn’t she here?”

 

“I’m so sorry,” whispers Abby, cupping Clarke’s face with a trembling hand and rubbing at her tears with her thumb. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. None of this is fair.”

 

“I have to go,” says Clarke suddenly, anxiety molten in her veins. She has no idea what to do but she _has_ to tell Lexa. That has to be her next step because she doesn’t know what else to do and Lexa deserves to know, Lexa should be here in the first place, and so should Costia but Costia isn’t here, and Lexa _is,_ why—

 

She doesn’t realize she was saying all that aloud until Abby is shushing her gently, stroking her face again. “Honey, I don’t know whether you should tell Lexa just yet.”

 

Clarke blinks, fingers curled loosely around her mother’s slim wrists. “What do you mean?”

 

“Maybe you should get a blood test first. Just to be safe. I don’t want you to get Lexa’s hopes up and then…”

 

“Yeah,” Raven speaks up, nodding in agreement. “I second that. You should be totally sure first.”

 

Clarke glances at the positive tests and nods after a moment. They’re right. She should be absolutely certain first. She won’t wait a month for the ultrasound, but her blood test is in three days. Three days might give Lexa some extra time to process, too.

 

God. Clarke blows out a breath, pressing into her eyes with the heels of her hands hard enough to see stars. Three more days isn’t going to do shit. Three more days still makes it not even a full week since Costia’s death and Clarke is about to tell Lexa that on top of being a widow, she’s now also going to be a single parent.

 

It’s not fucking fair.

 

Raven and Abby offer to clean up the bathroom and Clarke leaves them to it. She collapses on the couch and curls up into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees. She lifts her phone up and swipes it open and takes a second to stare at her wallpaper. It’s a [picture](https://66.media.tumblr.com/14d765cd34806a76e6ef66c87bc9e2f4/tumblr_pi7je1K6AW1xa4404o1_500.png) of she, Lexa, and Costia at the beach during their impromptu summer vacation right after grad school. Clarke taps on the message icon and opens her last text messages from Costia. Costia was a notorious lover of terrible-memes, so that was what she sent her. Of course it was. Costia’s dead and the last message she ever sent Clarke was a fucking meme of some soccer coach at the world cup fist-pumping and staring into the camera, attached with Costia’s caption: [_me n lex when we find out ur our baby mama._](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1385df6364c1a544c0a5cc74692ad39f/tumblr_pi7sncBMZR1xa4404o1_500.gif)

 

At the time Clarke had rolled her eyes and laughed and sent her a meme back. Now it makes her shake her head, eyes stinging. She scrolls down to the very last text message.

 

She’d sent it the day after she found out Costia died. Devastated and desperate, she’d sent a message hoping that, though her phone was destroyed in the wreck and the message wouldn’t go through, Costia would still somehow see it from wherever she is. Clarke told Costia she loved her. Told her she already missed her more than anything. Said it wasn’t fair. Said Costia had blessed her life. Promised her she’d take care of Lexa and her parents, that she’d take care of everyone.

 

And she will.

 

Clarke rests her hand on her belly, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _When my head goes in different directions  
>  _ _You know my heart's never on the move  
>  _ _And in the dark times, you don't have to question  
>  _ _If I'm a hundred with you  
>  _ _-Ocean by Martin Garrix feat. Khalid_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I planned on posting this fic all at once after completion, but I'd been really struggling to find motivation to write. I think I need to do this the same way I did Those Icy Fingers; the comments and feedback are what really inspires me to keep going, so please, let me know what you think! The more detailed the better :D (LOL if any of you ever apologize for leaving a long comment, I'm going to flick you in the forehead. The longer the better, my dudes, and I'm 100% sure every fic writer agrees with me). I promise there WILL be tons of fluff in this fic, it won't be ALL angst. If you don't believe me just ask clexabookmarks, she's notorious for her hatred of angst so if she can read this, anyone can xD


	2. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is lost and Clarke is there for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the amount of comments last chapter received! I can't even tell you how much they motivate me to write, I even added on to this chapter. Thank you guys so much! Hope you enjoy this.
> 
> I have had a few messages expressing concern that Clarke is Lexa's second choice and if Costia never died, Clexa wouldn't have happened. Honestly, I don't really understand this- it is canon that Costia dies and Lexa falls in love with Clarke. Saying Clarke is Lexa's second choice after Costia is like saying Lexa is Clarke's second choice after Finn; it's just silly and not true. Clexa are soulmates. It doesn't matter who or what happened before; they are meant for each other. Please read this post for further explanation: https://clexa-surrogacy-au.tumblr.com/post/180137405233/im-always-torn-about-stories-like-the-surrogacy
> 
> And lastly, as much as I love the enthusiasm, I just wanted to say that I've also had a few comments and messages and asks from people asking me to write this or that, telling me their opinions on who the baby should belong to, etc- while I appreciate the enthusiasm, I don't want you guys to waste your time; I already know what will happen and have been planning this fic long before I posted it. I have the whole fic plotted out, I just need to actually write it. I went ahead and posted the fic because the continuous feedback is what spurs me to write on, as I should have already learned from the giant monster of a multi-chapter Clexa fic I've done before (there is no way I would have been able to write 500k if it weren't for the people cheering me on. I'm a leo, what can I say). You might think you can convince me to change my mind but, to put it in perspective, it took me 3 years to write the 500k fic and I had it plotted out in the first few months. It's a story in my head and I write it the way it wrote itself, if that makes sense? I just didn't want you guys to feel disappointed or put out if something doesn't happen the exact way you want it to. I do love that some of you are so passionate about it, though!
> 
> And with that, here's chapter two!

 

> _How deeply are you sleeping_
> 
> _Or are you still awake?_
> 
> _A good friend told me_
> 
> _You've been staying out so late_
> 
> _Be careful, oh, my darling, oh_
> 
> _Be careful of what it takes_
> 
> _From what I've seen so far_
> 
> _The good ones always seems to break_
> 
> _\- Skyfall by Florence & the Machine [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1TSiB9OuVM)  
>    
>  _

* * *

 

 

Sunlight creeps into the room, bright and unexpected. A frown appears on Lexa’s face as it stirs her from slumber. She cracks an eye open and sees the curtains are drawn and the blinds are raised. She sighs.

 

“Cos, you forgot to shut the blinds again,” she grumbles, turning over to burrow her head deeper into her pillow.

 

Silence, but Lexa sinks into it. She sleeps on until she rolls over and the light wakes her again. She huffs.

 

_“Costia.”_

 

No answer. She kicks out a foot, expecting to make contact with a shin like always, but she hits nothing but air. Costia is not in bed. Lexa sits up, pouting, and freezes when she sees the other side of the bed. Untouched. Cold. As it has been for days.

 

It’s like all the air leaves the room. Lexa wants to go back to sleep. She wants to go back to sleep.

 

She pulls the blanket over her head and squeezes her eyes shut. Her heart thrashes against her chest, her breathing turning shallow as she struggles to suck in air past the tightness in her throat.  The house is too silent. It’s so quiet Lexa doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know how to exist in a space this suffocating. And the worst thing is it’s  _always_ going to be this empty. Costia is  _gone_ and she is  _never_ coming back.

 

She can’t bring herself to leave the bed. It’s been like this for days now. She can’t sleep, but she wishes she could because her favorite part of her day is that brief moment when she first wakes when everything makes sense. Costia is still beside her, snoring and radiating heat, and life has meaning. Then she opens her eyes and the truth comes crashing down to her: there’s no point. To anything.

 

She avoids people. She hasn't been answering Gustus's phone calls. Anya has stopped by a few times and knocked until Lexa replies that she’s here. Sometimes she uses her key to come inside and fixes her a meal but Lexa barely eats. The McIvers haven’t reached out. Lexa doesn’t blame them. Lincoln and Octavia brought her another lasagna yesterday but it’s ruined because she didn’t bother sticking it in the freezer. It’s just sitting on her counter because she doesn’t have a trash can to put it in; there were unopened bottles of champagne lying shattered at the bottom of it and the smell was making Lexa sick so she ended up throwing it outside; it laid in a puddle of red next to the steps that made Lexa want to throw up every time she looked out the window at it until she took the hose to the pavement and washed it clean. The glass shards were still there until Anya swept them up into a sack and disposed of them. Clarke has stopped by a few times too, though she mostly just hovers and looks unsure. She offered to wash up the dishes in the sink but Lexa told her no. There are two plates and some cutlery in the sink that have been there for six days now, covered in dried and crusted fettuccine Alfredo, the last meal Costia ever made, though Lexa is guessing she may have eaten toast the morning she died; there were crumbs all over the counter-top. Honestly, Lexa never wants to eat again.

 

But her stomach is caving in on itself after a while so she does, slowly. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get her by. Raven’s the one that temporarily restores her appetite in the end; she shows up with Anya to check on her and brings a tray of homemade enchiladas with her and the smell alone is enough to have Lexa’s mouth watering. The smiles Anya and Raven give her in response to finally eating are enough to make her push it away, guilty and nauseated. She ends up crying so hard that night she throws it all up anyway.

 

Lexa ignores her phone too; she thinks it died a few days ago, right before the funeral started, but she can’t be sure. Anya put it on charge for her, but when she unlocked it and was greeted with a Snapchat from Costia—her last one, a selfie with her favorite [THE FUTURE IS FEMALE ](https://clexa-surrogacy-au.tumblr.com/post/181106332223)sweater—she screenshots it and stares at it until she throws it across the living room. It cracks and she’s not even sure it’ll ever turn back on again. It doesn’t matter.

 

She doesn’t get up and wander around her house. She doesn’t look through old photographs. She doesn’t do anything except lay in bed and stare at the ceiling between exhaustive bouts of crying. She doesn’t understand it; she feels like she has no tears left, but they keep coming. She can’t grasp the fact that this is it. She’s never going to see her wife again. She’s never going to hear her laugh again, kiss her smile, or hold her hand. She won’t watch her grow old and gray. She won’t see her fulfill her dreams. Costia had a bucket list and there were only ever ten ridiculous things on it and she would never be able to do any of them.

 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Lexa lets the outrage settle over her, blistering her flesh from the inside out. She burns with fury, with rage. That’s the only other feeling apart from the total devastation and emptiness that she ever feels now. She shakes with it in bed, tucks her hands into fists so tight her short nails cut half-moons into her palms. Sometimes she wants to tear at things. Take a bat to everything in her house and smash it to pieces. Slam a hammer through the walls. Tear a knife through her couch and bed. Ruin everything so it reflects how she feels inside. It’s not. Fucking.  _Fair._

 

They were supposed to go on a road trip for their anniversary. They were supposed to have dinner with Lexa’s boss on Monday. They were supposed to watch the next season of Orange is the New Black even though it was becoming a dreadful show. They were supposed to go through  _life_ together. They were supposed to grow  _old_ together. They were supposed to have a  _family_ —

 

Lexa stills. She doesn’t breathe for a second. She stares up at the ceiling, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She’s overwhelmed by the disconcerting sensation of two entirely different feelings hitting her at once: terror snaking into her like ice, and hope searing like warm sunlight she’s desperate to grasp at.

 

A family.

 

_How could she forget?_

 

What day was it.

 

For the first time in two days, she leaves her bedroom. She wades through the mess of her living room; she’d thrown things around in a rage and left them where they crashed. She takes a large step to avoid the shards of glass sparkling on the kitchen floor; that was a trophy she’d won in college that she threw all the way across the room from the shelf next to the now-broken television. She still had a cut on her hand from smashing that; she’d thrown the dirty coffee-stained mugs at it and one had shattered in her hand. After a few hours of it bleeding freely, she’d tied a sock around the wound because she didn’t care to hunt down the Band-Aids.

 

She finds the calendar bent and creased beneath a kitchen hand towel and looks at the date and counts back. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end as she stares down at the little numbers. Costia had drawn giant red hearts and exclamation marks on the day. That day was three days ago. Today had blue hearts speckled across the paper like rain.

 

Lexa fumbles to fold the calendar back up, her heart pounding. She stumbles back to her bed with blurry vision before getting up again to relieve herself. Her urine is too dark so she grabs a bottle of water and sits, mingled dread and something else she doesn’t want to name—doesn’t feel as though she has a right to name—stabbing at her like sharpened knives. This can’t be happening. Surely this whole week has been nothing but a bad dream.

 

She doesn’t want to think about it. She can’t concentrate, her brain is muddled, she doesn’t know  _what_ to think about this. Doesn’t know what to do or how to do it alone. She doesn’t want to deal with it. She’s incapable of dealing with it.

 

She buries her face in Costia’s pillows, breathing her in, and every part of her aches.

 

_How am I supposed to do this without you?_

 

\\\

 

Well, she’s definitely pregnant.

 

There’s always a chance, of course, but after seven box tests and two blood tests, all positive, Clarke is pretty certain. She returns for the ultrasound in three weeks. It’s been over a week since Costia’s death and Clarke still isn’t sure how she is supposed to feel.

 

Her mother has moved on to elated. She insists this is a good thing, a miracle, one that will help them all heal. Children are a blessing, she reminds her. Clarke tries not to let it aggravate her. She knows it’s not really her mother that’s stressing her out, it’s this entire situation. And she’s right, she knows she is. That’s the reason why she’s pregnant in the first place. When Costia and Lexa found out neither of them could carry, Clarke was happy to offer herself. When Costia just gaped at her and Lexa, overcome, immediately started protesting, Clarke insisted. This was a big deal, a huge deal, a once-in-a-lifetime gift, and she couldn’t wait to do this for her best friends.

 

She wonders if that’s still the case. She tries not to think about it too much because honestly, all it does is give her a headache and make her stomach hurt so much she could throw up. She supposes that could be morning sickness too, though that hasn’t really been an issue so far. She’s been lucky on that front.

 

But it’s a real issue, one Raven doesn’t hesitate in voicing. How is this going to work? Is Lexa going to raise the child on her own? If the child isn’t biologically hers and Costia’s parents are the next genetic link, does that raise legal issues? Such things are complicated enough around surrogacy let alone adding in the death of one parent.

 

And on the flip side, what if Lexa  _doesn’t_ want this anymore? What if she doesn’t want Clarke to carry to full term? Clarke is pro-choice, strictly speaking, but somehow the idea of this being the result of months and months of trying, of blood sweat and tears, and knowing how much this meant to Costia, on top of the fact that this could very well be Costia’s biological baby and Costia is no longer here and doesn’t have a voice…Clarke has no idea how to even begin wading through that jumble of ethical quandaries. Bottom line, it’s not her choice, it’s Lexa’s—but that gives her pause too. Lexa’s dealing with enough right now, and this is just going to make it ten times heavier.

 

Still, after nine positive test results, it’s time for Lexa to know. That's what leads her to standing outside Lexa’s door on a Friday afternoon, a bottle of expensive champagne in hand.  She hasn’t spoken to her in a few days, since Anya forced her to charge her phone and Lexa responded with vague one-word answers to Clarke’s concerned inquiry as to how she’s been. She hasn’t actually  _seen_ her since two days after the funeral when she stopped by to drop off some muffins from Lexa’s favorite bakery and miserably failed at convincing Lexa to let her help around the house. Not for lack of trying, but every time she came around Lexa wouldn’t answer the door, and every time she called or text Lexa always had a reason why she couldn’t see anyone. Clarke didn’t want to push, but…Lexa really needed to know.

 

Clarke raps her knuckles on the door and waits, nerves twisting and fluttering in her gut. It's almost silly, how on edge she feels, but truthfully, though she counts Lexa as one of her very best friends...it's been years since they were on their own together. She worries they'll run out of things to say, or she won't say the right thing and will somehow upset Lexa further. Her friend is extra delicate right now; she doesn't want to make things worse. But there's no point worrying about that right now. She looks over her shoulder to distract herself, peering down the empty hallway. It’s dim, lit only by a single light down the long stretch of hallway. She shivers, feeling particularly small and swallowed up in this eerily still building. She knocks again.

 

Her frown deepens when there is once again no response. She pulls her phone out and tucks the bottle of champagne under her arm so she can type a quick message, bottom lip snagged beneath her teeth.

_Clarke:  
Hey, is Lexa with you guys?_

_Raven:  
Nope! Anya said she should be home, she stopped by earlier to check on her._

  
Clarke hesitates, glancing at the unmoved door.

 _Clarke:_  
_And she let her in? I’m here now but no one’s answering_

 _Raven:_  
_Sometimes it takes Anya pounding on the door_

  
Clarke’s tempted. But Anya is basically Lexa’s sister, and that’s probably something only Anya could get away with.

 

_Raven:  
Maybe try texting her. But Anya said she should be home_

_Clarke:  
I will. Thanks babe_

  
_Raven:_  
_No prob! Good luck, let me know how it goes_

 

Clarke pulls up Lexa’s name in her phone and swallows at what she sees. Her last text with Lexa was a silly squid video she’d sent her over a month ago. That says enough in terms of how much they spoke. She almost doesn’t know how to do this—she’d only ever known Lexa through Costia. Clarke could probably count on one hand the amount of times she’d spent alone with Lexa without Costia there. It’s silly that she feels nervous about this; Lexa is still one of her best friends even if they aren’t accustomed to much one on one time. There’s nothing at all to be nervous about.

 

Except Lexa is in mourning now, and Clarke’s well aware there isn’t much she can do to make her feel better. Only time can do that.

 

 _Clarke:_ _  
_Hey, are you home?__

 

It takes a minute before she sees the three dots signaling typing. It relieves Clarke to see it.

 

 _Lexa:_ _  
_Yes__

 

 _Clarke:_  
_I’m standing outside your door_  
_I’ve been knocking? Are you okay?_

 

The response is slower this time. Clarke chews her lip, staring at the phone until it comes.

 

 _Lexa:_ _  
_I’m in the bathtub listening to music__

 

Clarke pauses, tilting her head. She can’t hear any music. She briefly presses her ear to the door. Can’t hear any music drifting through Lexa’s apartment at all. Hm. She looks back down at her phone and hesitates, wondering if she should say she could come back later or if Lexa wanted her to come in now and wait for her to get out or—

 

 _Lexa:_ _  
_I’m sorry, I just want to be alone right now__

 

Well, that answers that. It’s not much of a surprise. Lexa has been avoiding most people save for her sister, who doesn’t give her much of a choice.

 

 _Clarke:_  
_ok. I really need to talk to you tho.  
do you think we could meet tomorrow?_  
_I can stop by any time_

 

 _Lexa:_ _  
_sure__

 

Her heart aches as she stares at those four little letters. It’s no use trying to arrange this now when Lexa is grieving. She’s probably curled into a ball in the center of a bed soaked in tears. The thought has Clarke reaching out without conscious thought, flattening her palm on the door as though she could reach through it, reach Lexa. The hallway is so quiet. The apartment is so quiet. It was never, ever this quiet before. Every time Clarke ever visited, the moment she breached the stairs there was noise: the sound of the television; music blasting; the clatter of utensils as a meal was cooked; the infectious high peal of Costia’s laughter. Costia was always loud. Clarke is clumsy so she could be loud at times, but Costia was loud on purpose. She made noise everywhere she went. She was vibrant and full of life and now she’s gone. She’s gone and this apartment is no longer hers, it’s just Lexa’s. And it’s silent and still and Lexa’s alone inside it, and Clarke is alone outside it, one hand pressed to the door, the other clutching her phone.

 

She drops her hand from the door and presses it to her stomach instead. In the strangest way, it feels like there’s more life inside her body than what exists outside it, and it’s a relief as much as it is terrifying. Swallowing hard, she lifts her phone and taps her fingers across the screen.

 

 _Clarke:_  
_ok, I’ll text you tomorrow._  
_Let me know if you need anything._  
_I’m here for you, always_

 

Lexa doesn’t respond and Clarke doesn’t expect her to. She casts one last lingering look at the shut door before slipping her phone in her pocket and making her way downstairs.

 

\\\

 

“It’s been two weeks, Mom.”

 

“I know, honey, but you’re going to have to be patient. She’s not in a good place right now, it’s going to take time…”

 

Clarke sighs, tuning out as her mother continues on. It’s the same conversation they’ve been having and it doesn’t do any good because at the end of the day Clarke  _still_ hasn’t seen Lexa. It’s been ignored calls, ignored knocks, and short texts stating she wants her space. Clarke tries to give it to her, but she worries leaving Lexa in the dark about this might upset her. She could just text it to her like Raven had suggested, sure, but this is huge news and it needs to be delivered in person. If Lexa were a Harry Potter fan like Costia had been, Clarke would have been shoving letter after letter under her door by this point.

 

She’s currently leaning against said door, as she has been for the past hour, determined to wait Lexa out. She hasn’t responded to her texts in the past few days and she can’t hear any movement inside the apartment, but she hasn’t heard anything in there for over two weeks now anyway.  She’d be more worried if she hadn’t already spoken to Anya, who assured her Lexa is okay—Anya seems to be the only person Lexa is speaking to, and that’s undoubtedly only because Anya would likely break down the door otherwise. Clarke’s about two steps away from doing that herself.

 

“I’m going to let you go,” she interrupts her mother, heart picking up when she hears approaching footsteps. “I think she might be coming up the stairs.”

 

“Okay, good luck baby! I love you, give her a hug from me—”

 

“Yeah I will, love you, bye.” She hits end call and sits up straighter, hope and nervousness flaring in her chest, and then immediately deflates and slumps back against the door when she sees who it is.

 

“Hello Clarke,” greets Mrs Yokan as she ambles up the stairs, shaking out her umbrella as she reaches the second floor. She glances up at the door Clarke sits before and her warm smile turns pitying. “Still no luck, huh?”

  
“Hey Mrs Yo. Nope, no luck yet,” says Clarke glumly.

 

“Call me Koino, dear,” she says; every conversation goes this way. Costia and Lexa have always been the textbook definition of polite, so it’s a habit she picked up from being around them that Clarke could only refer to their neighbor in the same manner. The woman surveys Lexa’s door with dark eyes framed with crow’s feet. “I managed to catch her a few days ago and gave her a casserole. Poor thing, doesn’t look like she’s doing very well.”

 

“Yeah, she’s…it’s tough.” Clarke takes in a long breath, licking her lips as she sinks back against the door, wishing she could just phase right through it. The thought of what Lexa is going through is already enough to make her heart ache, but knowing she’s apparently going through it alone…fuck. She hates this. And more than anything, she hates the surge of anger that accompanies the flood of grief when thinking about Costia.

 

This isn’t Costia’s fault. This isn’t anyone’s fault but the piece of shit driver who got behind the wheel, and considering he died on impact, Clarke couldn’t even vent her fury on him. She imagines it, visiting him in a prison, screaming at him through the glass, and burns with longing and frustration.

 

“It is tough,” agrees Mrs Yokan, pulling her out of her reverie. “I lost my husband nine years ago. I still miss him.”

 

Clarke nods, lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

 

Mrs Yokan waves a hand and gives an airy sigh that doesn’t quite match the wobble to her jaw and the glossy film over her eyes. “It’s okay. It’s a part of life. Just God’s way of testing my strength, I suppose.”

 

Clarke remains silent and respectful. She doesn’t want to say what she thinks about that, about belief that a deity would cruelly take away life just as a test for the living.

 

“You know, I saw her earlier this morning,” says Mrs Yokan, “Walking down Main Street, if that helps any.”

 

“The cemetery,” realizes Clarke, dread creeping slowly up her spine. Of course.

 

“Have you checked there yet, dear?”

 

“I haven’t but I’ll head there now.” Clarke rises to her feet, champagne bottle clinking in her bag. She’s been carrying it around with her every day, each time she’s came here; Costia was the one who bought it, and something about it felt important. It would be Lexa following the plan. Maybe everything would be okay if they just followed the plan as best as they could.

 

Mrs Yokan stops her with a delicate hug, silver hair soft as it brushes up against Clarke’s cheek. “You’re doing a good job, honey. Keep being there for her, even when she pushes you away. Don’t give up on her, even when it seems hopeless. Okay?”

 

“I would never,” promises Clarke firmly, squeezing the old woman back before darting down the stairs. “See you later!”

 

“I hope you catch her!”

 

It’s still raining when Clarke crosses the street to climb into her car. _Of course this is where she is,_ thinks Clarke with a rush of annoyance at herself for her own stupidity. Truth be told, she’s been avoiding the cemetery. In her experience, graves did nothing but make it hurt worse, so she only frequented them around special occasions— birthdays, Christmases, father’s days, day of death anniversaries. Knowing there’s one more ghost to mourn at this graveyard certainly doesn’t make her more eager to visit. Her hands are already sweating by the time she parks her car, grabs the umbrella out of the back, and starts down the path, heading for the marble bench.

 

Oh, God. There she is. Clarke understands the term heartbreak more fully than she ever has before when she spots the huddled figure curled up on the grass beside the flower-strewn bench, arms wrapped around the legs drawn up to her chest, head resting on her knees. Clarke quickens her pace, heart in her throat, grip on her umbrella tight and clammy. Lexa doesn’t react to her footsteps, nor does she move when Clarke stands right beside her, umbrella shielding the both of them. When Lexa does finally speak, her voice is muffled.

 

“Leave me alone, Anya.”

 

“It’s not Anya.”

 

There’s a pause, and then Lexa sighs, hood falling back when she lifts her head. Clarke’s stomach lurches unpleasantly at what she sees; Lexa’s face is pale and gaunt, the shadows beneath her eyes so dark they emulate bruises. Her hair is a frizzy, tangled mess, and her lips are so chapped they’re bleeding. “Clarke,” is all she says.

 

“Lexa,” is all Clarke can think to say. They stare at each other for another beat, the steady pitter-patter of raindrops on the umbrella swelling between them, before Lexa looks down, breaking their gaze, and Clarke feels like she can breathe again.

 

“Did Anya send you?” asks Lexa bitterly.

 

“No,” says Clarke honestly. “I’ve been by your place a few times and you’re never in. I knew you’d want to be where…she is.” Lexa glances at the urn and Clarke wonders if perhaps she could have worded that differently. She hastily moves on. “Anya’s just worried about you. We all are.”

 

“I don’t care.” When Clarke doesn’t respond, green eyes rise to meet Clarke’s, steady and hollow. “I really don’t. I wish you would all just leave me alone.”

 

It’s so _Lexa_ , the way she says it. The Lexa Clarke found in the business law class she’d foolishly chosen to take as an elective during senior year. Lexa’s expression is like steel and stone, hard and impassive, her lips barely moving as she speaks, her eyes empty and devoid of any warmth at all. They’ve been friends long enough now that Clarke can see past it, can catch a glimpse of the flicker of pain hidden in their depths. Lexa’s emotions reveal themselves in her eyes, and in countless micro-expressions. Clarke learned that a long time ago too.

 

“Okay.”

 

Lexa’s eyes narrow, a muscle clenching in her jaw. “Don’t patronize me.”

 

Clarke doesn’t answer. It’s no good trying to speak to Lexa when she’s like this, wounded and lashing out. Lexa knows Clarke knows that and huffs, turning to rest her head on her knees and stare at the urn. Clarke leaves her to it, and lowers herself down to sit beside Lexa on the damp grass, carefully holding the umbrella over them. Lexa doesn’t react or move away when Clarke leans into her to shelter them both from the rain, and she takes that as a good sign.

 

The cemetery remains empty as the sky opens up and rain cuts through the trees, ricocheting off the pavement and the gravestones. If Costia were here, she’d be complaining nonstop; she always hated the rain and had a healthy fear of storms. There’s no lightning cracking across the gray skies today, but the rain sloshes down in such thick torrents Clarke’s bicep burns with the effort to hold the umbrella aloft. She jumps when a cold hand suddenly grips the handle just above hers, and realizes with an uncomfortable jolt that at some point Lexa turned her head, and has apparently been staring at her unnoticed for some time.

 

“I’m sorry,” says Lexa, voice so quiet it can barely be heard above the rain and rumble of distant thunder.

 

Looks like it is going to storm, then.

 

Clarke shakes her head and slides her index finger up on the hand clutching the umbrella, hooking it over Lexa’s icy pinky finger. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

 

“I don’t need to take it out on you,” says Lexa, a slight wobble in her voice as though threatening to tremble. “It’s not your fault.”

 

“It’s not yours either.”

 

Lexa doesn’t answer. She drops her gaze, eying Clarke’s wet, muddy shoes. “I’m sorry either way.”

 

Clarke tightens her hold on her pinky. “Me too.”

 

Clarke left her phone in the car and isn’t wearing her father’s watch, so she’s not sure how much time passes. Eventually the storm rolls past them and the deluge lessens until it’s only sprinkling. The hush of rain settles like white noise and for a moment things seem so deceivingly peaceful in this bubble of calm that Clarke is actually shocked when she hears the stifled sob beside her. Lexa’s head is buried in the arms wrapped around her knees again, and her shoulders shake with the force of her crying. Panic and helplessness swims in Clarke’s stomach as she hastily switches the umbrella to her other hand so she can slip an arm around Lexa’s shoulders and scoot closer, pulling her into a tight embrace. She presses her lips together to hide the tut that wants to escape her mouth in a gentle chiding; Lexa is freezing and she’s not wearing many layers. It’s summer. She must have been out in this rain all day to be this wet and this cold. Clarke should have come out here sooner.

 

“It feels like a bad dream,” whispers Lexa, lifting her head to wipe her nose with the end of her sleeve. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

 

“Well…it’s only been a couple weeks,” says Clarke hesitatingly. “It’s…it can take a while for it to sink in, Lex.”

 

Lexa doesn’t respond, but Clarke can recognize the anxiety in the tensed lines in her face. She gets it because she remembers exactly how it feels.  _What if it never does? What if it hurts like this forever?_

 

“I’m not going to lie to you. That quote time heals all wounds? It’s bullshit.” Clarke shrugs, holding Lexa’s gaze when it snaps onto her. “They never fully heal, they’ll always be there. But…it gets easier to deal with. You eventually get to a point where the happy memories overshadow the sad ones. You just have to keep holding on and take it day by day until they do.”

 

“I miss her,” she whispers. Clarke studies the way droplets cling to Lexa’s long lashes, how her eyes have gone grey-green again. “I miss things I never even thought about.”

 

“Like what?” asks Clarke gently.

 

Lexa opens her mouth and closes it a second later, shutting her eyes. Clarke wants to reach up, wipe the tears away, but the mere idea of it twists in her stomach and it feels like too much so she just grips her shoulder more tightly instead. “I can’t. It hurts too much to talk about her. I’m sorry, I—I can’t.”

 

“Don’t.” Clarke sweeps her thumb over Lexa’s shoulder. “Nothing to apologize for, remember?”

 

The tears eventually subside, and Lexa gives a shuddering sigh, staring at the bench with unfocused eyes. “I don’t know where to go from here. Every day it’s the same. I wake up and I just...I don’t know what to do. What the point is.” She looks down, picks at a stray thread at the hem of her soaked sleeve. “It feels like life is going on without me. Work called today, I ignored it. People keep sending me texts, wishing me well, I ignore them. I get calls about sorting out the legal paperwork and I ignore them. Calls from insurance companies, ignore. We were supposed to go on the trip and I know I need to cancel our arrangements but I can’t bring myself to face it. I feel stuck, like I’m trapped in a…”

 

“Nightmare,” finishes Clarke, nodding in understanding and sympathy. “It’s hard and life doesn’t wait and that makes it harder. You just have to take it one day at a time.”

 

“I don’t even know where to start from there,” confesses Lexa, briefly tucking her bottom lip in when it trembles.

 

Clarke takes a measured breath and makes a leap of faith. “Well, for now, how about…you let me take you back to your apartment, and I’ll fix you some soup and Sprite?”

 

“I’m not sick,” says Lexa, brow furrowed, looking at her with these big, watery, vulnerable eyes, and Clarke’s heart aches. She doesn’t fight it this time and reaches out to tuck a brown curl behind a tiny ear.

 

“Maybe not the same kind, but you still don’t feel good…” Trailing off, she briefly pokes a fingertip into Lexa’s chest, just over her heart.  _Here._ Lexa understands and drops her gaze, head hanging. Clarke takes her hand. “Just let me take care of you, okay? It’s what Costia would want.”

 

“Costia isn’t here,” croaks Lexa, eyes brimming again.

 

“It’s what  _I_ want too,” says Clarke. She tilts her head and bends down so she can meet Lexa’s eyes. “Okay? I promise. You’re my best friend and you’re hurting and I want to take care of you. Please let me?”

 

Lexa nods, looking utterly defeated, and Clarke wastes no time in getting to her feet and pulling Lexa to hers. Neither of them bother to sweep off the wet grass clinging to their knees and backsides as Clarke slips an arm around Lexa’s narrow waist and starts leading her toward the car. She can’t bear to glance back at Costia’s fresh grave.

 

Lexa is silent during the car journey so the only sound is the radio playing quietly. She waits in the car when Clarke pulls into the convenient store on the corner to grab soup, soda, and a box of saltines for good measure, certain Lexa wouldn’t have it at home. Clarke glances at her a few times in the mirror, concerned—Lexa’s eyes are heavy and she’s curled up in her seat leaning against the passenger door (Clarke double-checked it was locked), but she’s yet to fall asleep like Clarke would have expected. Usually Lexa’s the type of person who can fall asleep anywhere, anytime.

 

Once they reach the apartment, Lexa fishes her key out of her pocket and seems to fidget before she unlocks the door. Clarke realizes why a moment later when it swings open to reveal utter devastation. Holy _shit._ It looks as though a tornado tore through the place. She stares in horror before remembering herself and quickly rearranges her expression to hide the shock.

 

Lexa opens her mouth as though to offer an explanation, but she closes it a moment later and merely shuts her eyes and lets out a shaky breath. Clarke looks between her and the wreckage littering the floor and makes a decision.

 

“Disney movies.”

 

Lexa’s heavy eyes snap open, brow furrowing. “What?”

 

“Disney movies,” repeats Clarke as she ushers Lexa through the doorway, nudging the door shut behind them with her foot. “That was always my go-to after my dad died, so we’ll watch some. You should get out of those wet clothes and go take a shower, and I’ll get your dinner ready.”

 

“Have you eaten?” asks Lexa heavily as she toes her sodden shoes off and leaves them in a haphazard pile on the doormat.

 

“Not since noon. I’ll throw something together.” Clarke hesitates for only a moment before approaching Lexa where she stands in the middle of the living room struggling to pull her hoodie overhead and helps her peel it off, hanging it up on the hook next to the door to dry. It’s only when Lexa is left in a thin wet t-shirt that she notices it; the blood-stained fabric wrapped around her hand. Clarke gasps and reaches out for the hand without a second thought, wincing a moment later when Lexa hisses a sharp intake of breath.

  
“What happened?”

 

“Mug broke,” says Lexa, frowning at the presumable sting of Clarke turning her hand over to observe. It’s a sock. She wrapped a sock around her hand. God, Lexa. 

 

“Are you okay?” asks Clarke, gingerly peeling the cotton back to take stock of the damage, slowing when Lexa grimaces as it pulls some of her scabbed skin with it. “How does it feel?”

  
Lexa shrugs. “Hurts.”

 

Clarke glances up at her through her lashes, lips pursed. “Helpful.”

“It’s fine, Clarke,” says Lexa, and not even the exasperation in her voice could stop the effect of her lips wrapping around that last word; Clarke has always liked the way Lexa says her name.  “It actually happened a couple weeks ago and I accidentally reopened it the day before yesterday. I've hardly even noticed it."

Only because you’re distracted by worse pain somewhere else, Clarke wants to say, but she bites her tongue. She sighs and sweeps her thumb over the back of Lexa’s hand. She drops it and turns away, expelling a breath she hopes will loosen the knot in her chest. She doesn’t mention the mess as she walks around it, heading for the kitchen counter. “Go wash up and I’ll bandage you properly afterwards. I’m going to get started on the soup. Any particular movie you want to watch?”

 

Lexa shakes her head and stumbles out of her jeans. Her shoulders are sagging. Clarke pauses in her process of removing the items from the plastic sack to watch her in concern. Lexa is shaky and weak and Clarke is willing to bet she hasn’t slept since Costia’s death.

 

Clarke can't believe Costia has been dead for two weeks now. Jesus. Clarke stares down at the counter-top, lost in memories. It was less than a month ago that she’d had dinner with them here; she’d hitched herself up to onto this counter and chatted to Costia as she prepared homemade gnocchi pomodoro from scratch. Lexa had arrived from work and made the three of them laugh until they cried as she pretended to chastise Clarke for sitting on the counter-top and Costia ended up giving Clarke the largest portion just to tease Lexa.

 

Her gaze shifts to the rest of the apartment. It’s an open kitchen, so her gaze is unimpeded as she takes in the ruin everywhere. It looks like mostly mugs have been thrown around, some of them clearly having taken multiple throws to do more than crack. There’s so much glass everywhere the floor is sparkling. She straightens up and rests her hands on her hips, chewing her bottom lip as she casts her gaze around. It’s enough to induce a headache just standing here, let alone living in it, and Clarke can’t imagine it’s doing much to improve Lexa’s psyche.  

 

Well, maybe Clarke could do something about that today.

 

There’s far too much destruction to give it a proper clean right now, but she at least removes the cushions from the couch to sweep off any bits of glass or plastic there. Her stomach lurches as though she’s missed a step on the stairs when she spots a scrunchie stuck between the couch cushions. Costia’s. She swallows thickly as she leaves it there for now; she’d worry about it later. She drags some pillows and blankets out of the closet, careful to avoid Costia’s, and piles them onto the couch. There’s a huge crack in the television, but somehow it still works beyond the occasional flicker of the screen when she switches it on. She grabs armfuls of DVDs—a substantial amount of Disney films, thanks to Costia—and stacks them before the television for Lexa to pick though.

 

The soup is steaming and fresh out of the microwave when Lexa pads back into the room, hair curly and dripping wet. She looks better, a bit more color to her skin, but Clarke suspects that’s less to do with being refreshed and more to do with how hot her showers are. Clarke snorts when she notices the clothes Lexa wears—an oversized grey t-shirt, worn flannel pants, and bright purple fuzzy socks. Lexa doesn’t react at all, which immediately has Clarke’s amusement fading. Her mouth is dry as she calls to Lexa to pick a DVD out; Lexa ignores her and sits down on the couch instead.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says miserably when Clarke walks over to her, soup aloft on her left mitten-covered hand and her right gripping a Styrofoam cup of ice and sprite, row of crackers tucked under her arm. “I’m just—I can’t think. I don’t even know if I can eat.”

 

“Just try to eat what you can,” says Clarke gently, setting them down on the end table beside where Lexa sits on the couch. “Do you have a first aid kit or anything around here?”

 

“I don’t know. They used to be beneath the sink, but I couldn’t find any there.”

 

Clarke hunts it down, eventually finding it in the bathroom cabinet. She eases down beside Lexa and cleans the gash across her palm, working in the calm silence between them. They’ve always been like this, comfortable in the quiet together. Clarke relaxes as she works, absently enjoying the pleasant scent of Lexa’s shampoo wafting from her wet hair. She finishes up wrapping her hand and Lexa murmurs a thank you, meeting her eyes briefly before inspecting the work. Clarke gently squeezes those slender fingers in acknowledgement before rising to her feet. She leaves and returns again a minute later with a water bottle and a plain turkey and cheese sandwich for herself, placing them on the couch before she kneels down to peruse the movie selection. Her heart leaps when she spots the perfect one.

 

“Here we go, this is a great one. This was actually my favorite movie to watch with my dad. Well, along with The Lion King, he loved that one too.” She closes her mouth, aware she’s rambling, and busies herself with inserting the DVD, grabbing the remote, and settling down on the couch. The movie begins and Clarke smiles slightly at the raised brow Lexa gives in response to the cartoon aliens that have appeared onscreen.

 

“I’ve never actually watched this,” says Lexa a couple minutes later. Clarke is already halfway through her sandwich, but Lexa’s bowl of soup looks almost untouched. Almost, because Clarke did see her take a few spoonfuls. She’s made it a third of the way through the cup of sprite at least, and Clarke’s spied her eating a few crackers.

 

“This is one of the most underrated Disney movies. It’s a shame because it’s one of their best.”

 

Five minutes in, Clarke is quite pleased with herself with her choice. For the first time in weeks, she sees Lexa’s face relax, the corners of her lips twitching as if she wants to smile, all because Stitch hurls his spit on another alien to make the guns guarding him blast at his captor instead.

 

A couple minutes after that she’s snorting at the idea of mosquitoes being aliens. “Makes sense,” she says lightly.

 

Clarke polishes off her sandwich and settles back against the couch cushions, smiling to herself, heart fluttering at the idea of Lexa finding some reprieve, something to smile at.

 

It doesn’t last long.

 

Twenty minutes in, Clarke shifts restlessly on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her, and glances uneasily at Lexa. No ghost of a smile on her face now.

 

_“We’re a broken family, aren’t we?”_

 

_“No! Maybe...a little. Maybe a lot.”_

 

This is possibly... _not_ Clarke’s best idea. She chews on her bottom lip as the movie progresses. It never failed to make  _her_ feel better, but she has memories associated with watching this movie with her father. Lexa, not so much. Then again, this movie, sad as it is in parts, also always serves to help Clarke. It hurts but the lessons in it are worth it. Clarke takes a subtle intake of breath, steadily exhales it. Hopefully it helps Lexa the same way it helps her.

 

Almost an hour in.

 

_“One fond embrace...until we meet again.”_

 

Soft crooning fills the room as Nani holds Lilo in the hammock and sings to her, as flowers drift away into the air, and Clarke spies the wobble to Lexa’s bottom lip.

 

“Are...you okay?” she asks hesitatingly.

 

Lexa swallows hard, gaze never wavering from the television. She gives a choppy nod.

 

_“That was up before... it was rainy, and they went for a drive.”_

 

Well. Fuck.

 

_“Ohana means family...family means nobody gets left behind. But if you want to leave, you can. I’ll remember you though._

 

_I remember everyone that leaves.”_

 

Clarke holds her breath, watching Lexa more than the actual movie now. She’s hovering between reaching for the remote or leaving it as it is. Lexa is expressionless and she can’t tell whether this is helping or making it worse.

 

_“Lost.”_

 

The word comes from Stitch. Awareness settles uncomfortably over Clarke. Okay, this is definitely too heavy and doing more damage than good.  Her gaze slides over to Lexa and it feels like a punch to the gut when she notices the tears brimming in Lexa's eyes.

 

“I’m sorry Lexa,” she says desperately, searching for the remote. She finds it wedged between the couch cushions.

 

“No, don’t. Don’t,” says Lexa, stopping Clarke with a hand to her wrist. “I can manage a Disney cartoon.”

 

“But—“

 

“I want to finish it,” she says, “Please.”

 

Clarke hesitates before nodding, reluctantly lowering the remote. Lexa lets go of her wrist a moment later, quickly and jerkily, as though she’d forgotten she was even holding it, and returns to her corner of the couch.  

 

Further guilt and shame prickles at Clarke’s skin as the movie progresses. She glances between the screen and Lexa’s face, anxiously biting her lip. Lexa’s expression is impassive, but her eyes are bright and filled with a hollow sort of anguish as she watches Nani fight to save Lilo. By the conclusion of the movie, Clarke feels as though she’s gone through a roller coaster (a Hawaiian roller coaster ride, to be exact; she curses herself; this is no time for jokes, Clarke). Silence stretches between them as the end credits roll and despite the cheery, upbeat song playing, Clarke feels terrible.

 

“I’m sorry if that movie was...too much.”

 

Lexa sniffs and shakes her head, head bowed and gaze fixed on her lap. “No, Clarke, it was a good movie. Cute. I can’t believe Cos— ” She coughs, as though unable to say her name. “I can’t believe she never made me watch it with her.”

 

“She made you watch a bunch of others, didn’t she?”

 

Lexa nods, lips twitching like she wants to smile again and a bubble of hope swells in Clarke’s chest. That’s a good sign, a very good sign.

 

“You know me, I love most Disney movies, but that one is probably my favorite.” Lexa looks up at her; Clarke smiles. “I was eleven when it came out. My dad took me to see it at the Polis theater.”

 

“I’m sorry,” offers Lexa wryly, drawing a laugh from Clarke.

 

The local cinema, Polis Theater, is infamous for its poor quality. It’s ancient; the screens are a bit discolored and too small for the film projections, and the concession is notorious for its expensive prices. Her father was usually quite profligate anyway though, so Clarke was lucky enough to get her very own large popcorn and drink on top of box of goobers chocolate. It’s a wonder the theater is even open; most customers opt to make the longer drive to a nicer theater in a nearby bigger city.

 

“No, it was really nice. Since the theater isn’t exactly popular, we had the whole auditorium to ourselves. My mom was working a late shift at the hospital, so it was just me and Dad.” Her smile stretches into a grin at the memories. It’s funny, the lasting impression even fleeting memories can leave on you. She can recall how sticky her hands were from her butter-soaked popcorn, the salt of the goobers on her tongue, the scratchy fabric of the seats. “They weren’t known for their cleaning either, so my feet kept sticking to the floor. My dad stretched his legs out and put his feet up on the seat in front of him but I was too short. He teased me about it so I threw popcorn at him, and then he threw some at me, and we ended up having a popcorn war.”

 

“I bet the employees who swept it up loved you,” quips Lexa.

 

Her light tone and the amusement shining in her eyes bolsters Clarke. “Hey, it was job security for them. I’m just kidding,” she adds with a laugh when Lexa half chuckles, half groans. “We grabbed the brooms right outside the doors and swept it up ourselves. They didn’t even have anything to clean up. Well, except the rest of the theater that looked like it hadn’t been mopped in years.”

 

Lexa smiles, but doesn’t say anything. Clarke doesn’t want it to end here like this so she keeps the conversation going, and eventually asks Lexa if she at least watched enough movies as a kid to have a favorite. _Everyone_ has a favorite movie.

 

“It was Mulan for me,” says Lexa sheepishly.

 

Clarke gasps. “You _have_ watched Disney movies!”

 

“I mean, who hasn’t watched at least one or two?” Lexa presses her lips together to temper her smile when Clarke continues to dramatically goggle at her. “It’s a staple of an American childhood.”

 

“So...Mulan. Arguably the gayest one. Makes sense it was your favorite.”

 

Lexa actually snorts. “It had the best songs, the best characters, and Mulan was a badass.”

 

“True,” agrees Clarke. “That movie always made me hungry though.” At Lexa’s raised brow, Clarke elaborates, “The part where Mushu makes her breakfast. He makes a smiley face and it looks delicious, especially when she’s eating it.”

 

Lexa hums in acknowledgement and, as though the talk of food set off her appetite, reaches over to grab a cracker. Lexa wordlessly offers her one and Clarke works on tempering her own smile as she pops it whole into her mouth.

 

“I’m surprised you’re not trying to get me to watch the Frozen one. Costia put it on a few times but I couldn’t get into it.” She blinks, lips parting in surprise and brow furrowing; Costia’s name had clearly just slipped out. Clarke quickly moves on, hoping Lexa doesn’t linger and get upset.

 

“Oh, that one’s good but it’s kinda overplayed. Moana is better.”

 

“Moana...sounds familiar,” says Lexa slowly, brow still furrowed. There’s a faraway look in her eyes that sends panic sparking at Clarke’s fingertips, trembling with the urge to grab Lexa’s hand and pull her into a hug; she doesn’t want her to withdraw into the darkness again. She knows it’s inevitable, but right now Lexa is safe and warm and has even smiled a couple times, and she doesn’t want it to end yet.

 

“It’s one of the very best Disney movies, if not  _the_ best of all time.”

 

Lexa raises her brows. “Heavy praise from you. Even better than Lilo and Stitch?”

 

“Don’t make me choose!” laments Clarke, drawing another almost-smile out of Lexa as she dramatically covers her face and falls back into the couch. She lowers her hands and huffs. “That’s our next watch,” she tells her, glancing over the stack of movies to double check Costia didn’t already buy it. It’s not there, and the idea that Costia died before she could ever watch it sends a horrible pang through Clarke’s heart; Costia would have  _adored_ that movie. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

 

She regrets it the moment the words leave her mouth. A stilted silence settles over them and Clarke sits there stupidly with her lips parted, no idea what to say to fix it. Of course Lexa isn’t doing anything tomorrow, aside from grieving. It’s only been a little over two weeks since her world was turned upside down.

 

“Or how about tonight?” she blurts before she can think much of it.

 

Lexa blinks at her, brows moving together as she glances at the clock ticking up on the kitchen wall. “Are you sure?”

 

Clarke deflates. “Oh. Well. If you’re tired, I can head back home—”

 

“I didn’t say that,” says Lexa quickly.

 

Clarke pauses, tilting her head as she observes the sudden insecurity in Lexa’s eyes. Her face is blank but she can’t ever quite hide all the tells Clarke can read. Lexa clasps her hands in her laps, fingers fidgeting as she glances away from Clarke, and Clarke realizes Lexa doesn’t want to be alone.

 

“I’m not tired,” she rushes out, taking a breath to steady her tone when green eyes snap onto her. “Disney marathon implies more than one movie, so what do you say we pick another?”

 

Lexa nods, barely-hidden relief visible in her eyes, her shoulders slumping slightly with it. Clarke smiles at her before standing up.

 

“How about Mulan?”

 

Lexa smiles for real this time. Clarke picks a couple more movies too, setting them next to the DVD player in anticipation for later (when she spots Up, she discreetly slips it deep beneath the shelf to never be found again anytime soon). She makes Lexa another cup of sprite when Lexa pops into the bathroom, and Lexa brings up the disc menu while Clarke relieves her own bladder. They exchange another small smile as the movie starts up.

 

\\\

 

They’re three quarters of the way into the movie when Clarke’s phone lights up on the nightstand.

 

_Mom:_

_Did you find Lexa?_

 

Clarke looks sidelong at Lexa, who’s curled up on her side of the couch, face framed by frizzy air-dried curls. The last they interacted was when she smiled sleepily at Clarke when Clarke wiggled her eyebrows at her during the scene where Mulan eats her smiley breakfast porridge. She’s been growing quieter and more heavy-lidded as the night progresses.

 

_Clarke:_

_Yes, I’m with her now._

 

_Mom:_

_So late? Don’t you work tomorrow?_

 

_Clarke_

_I already called in. We’re just watching movies_

 

_Mom:_

_That’s good, keep her company._

 

She sets her phone back on the table and turns to cock an eyebrow at Lexa, who appears to be drifting off even sitting upright.

 

“You can go to bed if you need to, you know. We can always finish the movies another time.”

 

“I haven’t really been sleeping lately,” admits Lexa, giving a prolonged blink of her heavy eyes.

 

Clarke scrutinizes her for a moment. “Would it help if I played with your hair?”

 

“You don’t have to do that, Clarke.”

 

 _I want to,_ she thinks, but she can’t find it in herself to say it. Instead she just places a pillow on her lap and pats it. “It’s fine, Lex, honestly.” She waves her over when Lexa doesn’t move. “Come.”

 

Lexa sways and gradually slumps toward Clarke until she’s falling into her. Clarke scoots to the side to allow more room, and Lexa doesn’t protest when she reaches out and gently urges her down until her head is lying in her lap. Lexa curls her legs up and sinks into her while Clarke pulls the blanket up to ensure her limbs are covered.

 

“Sleep if you need,” says Clarke softly.

 

“I’m fine…” yawns Lexa, but she doesn’t move. She practically purrs when Clarke gathers up her hair to get it off her neck and then begins to toy with it.

 

So much for sticking to the plan. Her bottle of champagne is left forgotten in her car, she still hasn't told Lexa she's pregnant, and now look at them. Clarke shifts slightly, a bit uncomfortable in her jeans but unwilling to ask Lexa to borrow some clothes, especially since Lexa's finally relaxing. Clarke cards through impossibly soft curls, glancing down probably too often to observe the strong cut of Lexa's jaw, the way her long lashes cast spindly shadows over the curve of her cheekbones. This is the most relaxed Lexa has looked all night.

 

Eventually the movie ends and Clarke grabs the remote to turn on Netflix instead, putting on another Disney film. As she watches, Clarke idly strokes Lexa’s hair, comforted by the steady sound of Lexa’s breathing as the movie plays on. She bites her lip through her smile when Lexa begins to quietly snore. 

 

She’s already made it through Hercules and halfway through The Princess Diaries when she catches muffled voices outside the door. She jolts as the door knob jostles before the door swings open and in step Octavia and Lincoln, arms laden with foil-covered dishes. Their eyes pop at the chaos of the room. Lexa is already stirring at the commotion even before Octavia’s mouth drops and she exclaims, “Holy crap, what—”

 

Clarke is quick to shush them, warningly hovering her hand over Lexa. Octavia and Lincoln notice them with surprise and then freeze in place when they realize Lexa is sleeping, faces contorting with alarm and guilt. Clarke stares at Lexa for another moment, tentatively threading her fingers back through Lexa’s hair, and relaxes in relief when Lexa burrows back into her, breathing evening out again.

 

“She’s finally sleeping,” whispers Clarke, stroking through her hair. She looks up to meet Lincoln and Octavia’s eyes. “She’s been having trouble with it.”

 

Octavia gives Clarke a wide-eyed bemused expression as if to say  _duh_. Lincoln nods before walking to the kitchen, careful to avoid the glass and debris.

 

They’re nearly finished packing the lasagna away into the freezer by the time Clarke feels safe enough to extract herself from Lexa. She leaves her curled up into a ball on the couch, blanket tucked around her, and watches her in concern for another minute before deciding she’s not in danger of waking up right now. When she turns around, Lincoln and Octavia are watching her curiously.

 

“What?” asks Clarke as she approaches them, not quite understanding why she suddenly feels so uneasy and self-conscious.

 

Lincoln frowns and opens his mouth but closes it with a snap a moment later when Octavia digs an elbow into his ribs. Clarke echoes his frown but moves past it.

 

“What are you guys doing here? Where are the kids?” she queries.

 

“In bed; Mom’s at home with them. Leo gave us a spare key, we just came to drop off some more lasagnas,” says Octavia in a low voice, concerned as she inspects the old one on the counter that appears to be growing mold. “Does she not like them? Linc, maybe we should get your mom to make them instead—”

 

“I don’t think she’s been eating much of anything,” says Clarke quietly. “I made her soup but she barely touched it.”

 

“Where’s she been going every day?” asks Lincoln. “We stop by sometimes and she doesn’t answer.”

 

“The cemetery.” Clarke glances at her to make sure she’s still out and lowers her voice. “I think she’s just been spending all her time there. I found her there today, it was heartbreaking. Barely eating and barely sleeping.”

 

“She is now.” Octavia gives a sad smile when Lexa sighs in her sleep as though to support the claim. “How long has she been out?”

 

Clarke lifts her wrist to check her watch before remembering she didn’t wear it today because of the rain. She slips her phone out of her pocket to check. “A few hours.”

 

“At least you helped her sleep.” Octavia’s pitying gaze lingers on Lexa’s limp form.

 

Clarke shrugs. She doesn’t know if she did or if Lexa was simply exhausted and finally fell to it.

 

“I hate how helpless we are,” murmurs Lincoln with glossy eyes. Octavia wraps her arm around his waist, tipping her head onto his shoulder. He holds her tightly. “Cos would— Cos would want us to look after her, and we’ve been trying but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

 

“How about we start with fixing this place up?” suggests Octavia, turning to cast a critical eye over the utter mess and devastation.

 

Clarke nods at once. “I second that. Let’s get her in bed first though. Linc?”

 

Though Lexa can easily fall asleep, that isn’t to say she’s a heavy sleeper. She’s actually a very light sleeper, so Clarke is on eggshells hovering nearby as Lincoln scoops Lexa up into his arms and carries her to the bedroom. Surprisingly, compared to the rest of the house, the bedroom is still fairly neat. The sheets are rumpled and there's a candle flickering on the nightstand. Clarke is relieved when Lexa doesn’t so much as stir as Lincoln gently sets her down, and the two of them tuck the blankets up below her chin. Lincoln presses a soft kiss to the top of Lexa’s head before nodding at Clarke and returning to the living room. Clarke takes longer, lingering, her heart aching as she studies Lexa’s sleeping face. For the first time in weeks, she looks completely at peace, no lines worrying her forehead, her lips parted and full, her long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Clarke wants to do what Lincoln did, imagines herself leaning down to card her fingers through soft chestnut curls one more time before brushing her mouth over the soft, warm skin of Lexa’s forehead. She doesn't. She looks over her one last time before withdrawing from the room and silently padding down the hallway.

 

Octavia and Lincoln have already made some headway when she returns to the living room. She joins them without a word, grabbing a trash sack and the broom.

 

\\\

 

Lexa wakes with a jerk, as abruptly as if someone switched the lights on. It makes little sense considering the room is still dark. She’s disoriented for a moment, wondering why she feels as though she’s only been asleep for five minutes yet simultaneously had the deepest nap of her life. Her throat is parched but otherwise she doesn’t feel too awful; her hair is soft and her skin is clean. One shower has made a world of difference. Hygiene hasn’t exactly been on her list of priorities for the past couple weeks.

 

She doesn’t roll over in bed because she knows the space beside her is cold and empty. Today marks the first time she’s woken up remembering Costia is gone. She’s not sure whether it’s better this way, but at least awareness doesn’t hit her like a freight train for once.

 

A glance at the alarm clock tells her it’s a little after three in the morning. The last time she looked at the clock it was only eight. She’s slept seven hours. Six hours longer than what she’s usually been sleeping for the past couple weeks. Thanks to Clarke. She doesn’t even remember getting in bed, and there’s no way Clarke  _carried_ her, so how the hell did she get here? And where is Clarke? Did she go back home, or is she still here? Lexa frowns in guilt for the immediate voice in her head answering that she hopes Clarke did go home. As much as she needed yesterday, Lexa just wants to be alone again.

 

She drags herself out of bed to relieve her bladder before making her way to the living room. She stops short at what she sees.

 

Her apartment has been cleaned. The sheer relief at seeing the floors clean and uncluttered is almost overwhelming, enough that it makes Lexa’s knees weak to see it. She gapes, floored, before her gaze lands on the figure sprawled out over her couch, only a mop of wild blonde hair visible above the blanket. Did Clarke do this all on her own?  _How?_

 

The desire to be alone melts away as a desperate need to do something to thank Clarke takes precedent. It’s far too early to wake her yet, so Lexa retreats back into her bedroom. She lays in bed for the next couple hours, staring at the candlelight flickering on the ceiling and wishing sleep would come back to her. Some people, she knew, spent the majority of their time sleeping when they were grieving. Why couldn’t she be like that?

 

She doesn’t slip fully into sleep, but she hovers somewhere in limbo as the hours pass. She’s in it deeply enough that the sound of a pan clattering to the floor followed by a curse jolts her up in bed. Her heart constricts in her chest as the scent of coffee reaches her. She hasn’t smelled that since Costia. The scent had lingered when she woke up to her phone ringing. Costia was already dead, but the apartment still smelled like the coffee she’d made. It makes Lexa want to roll over and bury herself under the blankets, except then the smell of cooking food reaches her. Bacon? She definitely must be starving, because it makes her mouth water. She slips out of bed and darts into the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth before she hastens to the kitchen.

 

“Hey!” says Clarke wildly when she walks in, erratically waving the spatula in her hand before adding breathlessly, “Um, sorry, did I wake you?”

 

Lexa shakes her head. "I’ve been in and out for a while.” She moves forward to stand near the counter. “Have you been up long?”

 

“Not too long. I figured you were still sleeping so I ran to the store to pick up a few things. I, uh, attempted breakfast,” says Clarke feebly, gesturing toward the food.

 

Lexa presses her lips together to stop from smiling, amused as she casts her gaze over burnt toast, crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs. “Looks like you succeeded.”

 

Clarke snorts as she begins plating up. “You might change your mind once you try it.”

 

They sit at the newly-cleared kitchen table and dig in. Clarke wrinkles her nose at the taste and Lexa laughs lightly.

 

“It’s not that bad.”

 

“It’s all burnt. I like my eggs over easy and my bacon squishy. This is just way overcooked.” She sighs, smiling and shaking her head in self-deprecation as she reaches for her chipped mug and takes a sip of her coffee. “Scrambled eggs were the first thing my dad ever taught me to cook, you’d think I’d be better at them.”

 

“They’re better than mine would be.”

 

Scrambled eggs happened to be the first thing Costia taught Lexa how to cook, too.

 

They eat in peace, a comfortable silence between them. Silence has always been comfortable with them, apart from the very first time they met. It becomes quickly apparent, however, that there’s something in the air, a thick sort of tension that has Lexa’s shoulders stiffening. She sneaks a few peeks at Clarke, noting the line between her brows and the way she chews her lip.

 

“Did you sleep well?” she asks after a moment, pushing away her half-eaten plate. It’s the most she’s consumed since Raven’s enchiladas; her stomach has clearly shrunk.

 

“Yeah, you have a pretty comfy couch.”

 

That’s a lie. Three years ago Costia insisted on buying the couch for aesthetic purposes rather than the level of comfort, and Costia won that argument. They were so busy usually it’s not like they used it much to begin with. Lexa stares down at her glass of orange juice, swishing it and watching the pulp slosh against the walls.

 

“You didn’t have to, you know,” she says quietly. She feels Clarke’s gaze on her but she continues scrutinizing her drink instead, guilt and shame heating her face all the way to the tips of her ears. She can’t help it; it’s mortifying, that she can’t even do something as simple as pick up after herself.

 

“Didn’t have to what?”

 

“Clean.” Lexa gestures around them, expelling a shaky breath as she finally meets Clarke’s gaze. It’s soft and pitying and makes Lexa feel exponentially worse. “I would have gotten around to it eventually.”

 

“Eventually,” echoes Clarke, nodding thoughtfully. “I know you would have. But I just wanted to do something nice for you. And anyway, I didn’t do it alone. Lincoln and O stopped by last night.” Lexa’s shoulders drop further as she looks away, guilt burrowing away through her chest, but Clarke’s lips quirk. “They brought another fifty lasagnas for you. I think you should be set for life now.”

 

Lexa can’t do much more than nod, using a thumb to chase a stray droplet racing down the side of her cup. She’s not used to it, to others taking care of her. Aside from Anya who’s always been like a sister to her, Lexa’s always taken care of herself.

 

“You don’t have to feel bad about it. We’re your family, Lex, we’re all here for you.”

 

Lexa just nods again.

 

“So, do you want to continue that Disney marathon today?”

 

Unease spikes within Lexa’s belly, flashes of panic threading through her chest. She can’t quite stop herself from glancing down the hallway at her bedroom door; truthfully, all she wants to do is crawl back into bed and remain there for the rest of the day, but she feels like she owes Clarke her presence for everything she’s done. She picked her up from the cemetery, brought her home, made her dinner, distracted her from the overwhelming despair that’s been swallowing her whole, helped her sleep, cleaned her house, and made her breakfast. If it were anyone else, Lexa would simply thank them for everything they did before telling them she wanted to be alone and kicking them out. But this is Clarke. She shifts her gaze onto her, meets blue eyes that survey her knowingly in return as though she knows exactly what Lexa’s thinking. Lexa grimaces and Clarke just shakes her head, reaching out to put a hand briefly on Lexa’s forearm before pulling it back.

 

“Hey, I get it. Honestly, I do. When my dad died, I didn’t have the energy to do much more than drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom for weeks. Wells started sending me letters through my window. He’d scribble on post-it notes and roll them up and tie them to balloons; half the time he’d miss and they’d disappear into the sky. All that trouble and they were just stupid puns and fortune cookies.” She chuckles when Lexa smiles despite herself. “We’ll all give you all the space and time you need, but just—remember we’re here, okay? We have your back.”

 

Lexa nods and her eyes sting so she closes them for a long moment, breathing deeply. When Clarke takes her hand, she blindly squeezes it. She expects that to be it, waiting for the telltale slide of fabric as Clarke slips off the stool and gets up to get dressed and head out, but Clarke just sits there and holds her hand instead, and Lexa can actually feel the air thicken once more. She pulls her hand free and opens her eyes to see Clarke watching her with drawn brows and a frown, before she blinks and it softens.

 

"Can I hug you?" she asks in a voice close to a whisper.

 

Lexa's own words feel stuck in her throat, so she just nods. Friends hug. She didn't think she and Clarke were those types of friends; they weren't usually physically affectionate. But there's almost a desperation in Clarke's eyes, like this is something _she_ needs, not just something she's doing for Lexa. And Lexa wants to be there for her; Lexa didn't just lose a wife, Clarke also lost her best friend. So Lexa scoots her chair over and leans forward, wrapping her arms around Clarke without hesitation. Clarke clutches her in return, face pressing into Lexa's hair. 

 

"You still have family," murmurs Clarke, quiet voice vibrating against the curve of Lexa's neck; she suppresses a shiver. "I promise, we're all- we're all here for you and we aren't going anywhere, Lexa. You're going to get through this and we'll be with you every step of the way."

 

Clarke leans back to look at her, eyes alight with intensity, and Lexa can do nothing more than swallow thickly and nod. She watches as Clarke's expression shifts again, regains the lines of tension, lips tipping down into another frown. She blows out a breath and leans back into her chair again, still staring at Lexa, who just looks back at her, unnerved.

 

“What?”

 

Clarke’s lips part. Her throat bobs as she swallows, but she seems to steel herself for whatever she has to say next. “I need to tell you something, Lexa."

Lexa looks expectantly at her, heart beating faster.

 

Clarke just looks at her, hesitation written in every line of her face, before finally giving a small shake of her head, taking a deep breath, and blurting out two words that change Lexa’s life forever.

 

“I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, this is a multi-chapter fic and you will learn more about the past as the story progresses, so if you have questions/concerns about plot, it should be answered in the future. Or feel free to shoot me a message on the clexa-surrogacy-au blog!  
> And Happy Holidays!


	3. They Wept Tangerines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke tells Lexa she's pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I have no excuses other than the fact that this is very heavy and difficult to write, and life sometimes gets in the way. Originally this chapter was 17k but I decided to split it up into two. Happy (or perhaps not so happy) reading! 
> 
> Special thanks to everyone who has helped me with this fic both new friends and old, whether by supporting with feedback that encourages me to continue (I read every single comment- multiple times even-and squeal every time I get an email alerting me to a new one; eventually I'll respond to all of them too), talking to me and acting the sounding board while I bounce ideas off the walls, and/or reading and giving me your opinions. I love our kru so much, thank you! <3

 

 

> _yesterday_
> 
> _when i woke up_
> 
> _the sun fell to the ground and rolled away_
> 
> _flowers beheaded themselves_
> 
> _all that's left alive here is me_
> 
> _and i barely feel like living_
> 
> _\- Rupi Kaur (The Sun and her Flowers)[x](https://www.google.com/search?q=rupi+kaur+the+sun+and+her+flowers&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS853US853&source=lnms&tbm=shop&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwipkview_XiAhUinq0KHbjGB58Q_AUIESgC&biw=1600&bih=789)_

* * *

 

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

It doesn’t register at first. Lexa just stares at her. And stares. Until Clarke looks more worried than ever and steps forward into her space, bending to peer down at her in wide-eyed concern.

“Lexa?”

 

“What?” Lexa’s lips move to frame the words before she can think of anything else to say.

 

“The IVF worked. I’m pregnant,” repeats Clarke, worried eyes flitting all over Lexa’s face. “I’ve known for a while and I’ve been trying to catch you to tell you…”

 

It comes flooding back to her with an unpleasant squirm in her belly she doesn’t want to think about. The hearts on the calendar. She’d pushed it out, but it was always lingering in the back of her mind- was part of the reason she’d been so resolutely avoiding Clarke in the first place, and that thought alone has guilt and shame twisting in her gut. Honestly, she’d assumed it hadn’t worked, and that grief had her withdrawing even more into herself, but clearly she’d been wrong. It _had_ worked. The months of planning, the lengthy process. The eggs. The baby. Her baby. _Costia’s baby._

 

Lexa’s head spins so much she has to put a hand on the table to stop the world from following. Clarke immediately drops down into the chair beside her again, hand hovering over Lexa’s forearm; Lexa shifts away and Clarke snatches her hand back like she’s been burned.

 

This is too much. There are a thousand things filtering through Lexa’s mind, and everything she _should_ do screams at her in her own voice, in Costia’s voice, in Anya’s, in her father’s. No, no, this is way too much, all of this— she doesn’t feel equipped to handle this, she doesn’t know _how_ to do this, _she can’t do this alone, she—_

 

“Lexa.” Clarke says her name so softly it’s barely a whispered breath. Lexa’s eyes dart to her, wild and panicked. “I’m so sorry for— for this entire situation. I know it’s...it’s supposed to be the happiest moment of your life, and instead—”

 

“I can’t do this,” blurts Lexa. Clarke pauses, looking at Lexa with these sympathy-softened eyes that immediately raise the hackles of Lexa’s back. Clarke looks at her like she’s just grieving but it’s going to click eventually, like somehow _this_ will make everything okay. It doesn’t. It makes everything worse.

 

“I know it’s scary,” says Clarke soothingly, cautiously stretching her arm out to reach for Lexa again; she draws back with a crestfallen face when Lexa scoots further away. They both draw in shaky breaths. “You’re okay,” says Clarke, and even with the panic pounding in her Lexa is captured by piercing blue eyes, pausing for just a moment to look into them, desperation bleeding into her. She clenches the seat of her chair with a white-knuckled grip and seeks something in Clarke’s eyes; _something_ , she doesn’t know what. Something that tells her what to do and how to feel. Something that tells her how to feel okay again.

 

She doesn’t find anything but concern and empathy and that is not what Lexa is looking for.

 

“I don’t want it,” she finds herself saying. She says it again, just tasting the words. Like iron and copper, cloying on her tongue. She looks up to see Clarke just staring at her, wide-eyed and faced drained of color. Lexa’s heart constricts but she pushes through it. “I don’t— I don’t. I can’t.”

 

There’s a pause as Clarke sucks in a slow, steadying breath. “That’s how you feel right now,” says Clarke slowly, brows raised high. “But once it sinks in and you can think clearly, you— “

 

“I never wanted it.”

 

The words echo. They echo in Lexa’s tiny kitchen that smells of burnt toast, they echo in the confines of an apartment that no longer feels like home. They echo in Lexa’s ears, throwing themselves back at her, exploding in her proximity and lodging in her bones like shrapnel. _I never wanted it._ That’s what she tells herself. _I never wanted it._

 

_I never wanted any of this._

 

“Lexa…”

 

“Don’t,” says Lexa, closing her eyes and turning her head, lifting a trembling hand as though it will stop any words from leaving Clarke’s lips. “Don’t tell me how I feel. Just don’t.”

 

When silence stretches out between them, Lexa finally opens her eyes, and finds Clarke looking at her with so much emotion in her face Lexa doesn’t know what to do in the face of it, feels like she’s drowning in it. It’s almost worse than anything else she’s experienced this morning.

 

“Take some time,” whispers Clarke after a while. Lexa opens her mouth to protest but Clarke shakes her head and cuts her off. “That’s all I ask. Please. For everyone’s sake, Lexa, I need you to take some time and think about it.”

 

 _How much time?_ thinks Lexa, but the conflict must show on her face because Clarke stands up. She walks across the kitchen to grasp the calendar hanging on the wall and plucks a pen out of the cup on the countertop. She returns to the table and slips back into her seat, and Lexa watches as Clarke flips forward a month and circles a date a couple weeks from now. Clarke replaces the cap on the pen and scoots the calendar in front of Lexa, swiveling it around so she can see, and taps a finger on the circled date.

 

“This is the first ultrasound,” she says softly. “How about we see how you’re feeling by then?”

 

Lexa stares down at the circle, lurid green ink gleaming in the kitchen light. That gives her a little over two weeks. Eighteen days to decide whether or not she’s ready to raise another human being on her own, a child she was supposed to share with her now dead wife. Eighteen days is not enough. Forever is not enough.

 

Clarke sucks in a subtle breath, gathering courage as though steeling herself for something. “If you want to, you should meet me there. The appointment is at three and we can meet at two forty-five. Or  just...come with me. That was...that was always the plan.”

 

The plan. The _plan_. The words repeat in Lexa’s mind with more derision each time. She finally releases her chair to clench her fists in her lap instead. She used to love plans, and now the mere word is enough to make her feel sick. What a joke. Plans are for people who are confident the future is for them. No one can make plans.

 

Clarke jumps a little when Lexa pushes back from the table abruptly, turning to walk into the living room. She paces in the small space around the dining table, running shaky hands through her hair. Clarke watches her silently from the table for a short while, eventually standing up herself and hanging the calendar back on the wall with a thumbtack, letting it fall to June once more; it’s an odd relief to see it there instead of July. Clarke makes her way around the living room after that, quietly picking up her things, slipping around Lexa to grab her phone off the table and slide it into her back pocket, pulling her jacket on and toeing on her shoes. Fully dressed, she pauses and looks at Lexa in uncertainty. Clarke is still wearing the same clothes from last night, rumpled and sleep-worn, and for some reason it almost feels indecent to look at her. Lexa averts her gaze and sits down on the couch.

 

“I’m so sorry,” begins Clarke, but she quiets when Lexa shakes her head again. She’s heard it enough, and Clarke has done nothing wrong.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” says Lexa, voice hoarse. She still can’t bring herself to look at her, even when Clarke moves around the table and comes to sit beside Lexa on the couch, a careful amount of space between them.

 

“I’m sorry you’re going through all this. I’m just sorry.”

 

 _I don’t need your pity,_ Lexa wants to tell her, but she can’t bring herself to say it. Movement catches her eye; she looks over to see Clarke’s hand inching toward her own.

 

Lexa looks up and finally meets Clarke’s gaze. Deep blue looks at her with such soft intensity Lexa’s heart kicks up again. Despite the sorrow lining her face, Clarke is glowing, her blonde hair tousled and soft, and Lexa wonders if she actually had a good night’s sleep or if it’s the fact that she’s with child. It’s so bizarre to think about— Clarke is _pregnant_ right now.

 

“What can I do to help?” asks Clarke tentatively.

 

“There’s nothing you can do.” Lexa doesn’t intend for the words to leave her lips as sharply as they do. Clarke doesn’t flinch, but Lexa can tell from the terse set of her shoulders that it hits her nonetheless.

 

Clarke wets her lips, looking at Lexa with so much softness Lexa can barely stand it. “Do you want me to go?”

 

Lexa swallows, but before she can answer, a knock on the door intrudes on the quiet stillness of her apartment.

 

“Lexa?” calls a familiar voice.

 

“I’ll get it,” murmurs Clarke, rising to her feet. Her walk forward is impeded when Lexa springs up and grasps her forearm to stop her. Clarke looks down at it before her eyes dart up to meet Lexa’s, confused.

 

“I…” It’s early morning and Lexa has already reached her threshold for social interaction today. She doesn’t know how to say that, but Clarke seems to instinctively understand. She turns her arm, twisting around so she can grip Lexa’s in a similar fashion, and they remain like that for a moment. It’s not quite as ridiculous as it should be, standing there grasping one another’s forearms. Something more than a handshake, but less than holding hands. Something touch-starved in Lexa aches at the thought, but then there’s another knock on the door.

 

“Lexa!” calls Raven again, voice muffled through the door. “It’s already hot as balls out here and I’m carrying crap, let me in!”

 

Clarke holds Lexa’s gaze and her arm for another moment, lips twisting wryly. Lexa’s eyes catch on them and the way they twitch down has her releasing Clarke’s arm as though scalded. The door knob jostles and the door swings open before either of them can make another move.

 

Raven stands there, one hand on her cane and clutching a bobby pin and the other holding a large tray aloft. She looks at the two of them in exasperation before entering the apartment. “I can’t believe you just made me pick your lock. Don’t tell Anya I’ve been breaking and entering again.” Raven shoots a glance at Clarke as she shuffles farther inside. “Dude. You never text me back.”

 

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” says Clarke, visibly struggling to wipe the frown from her face and lighten her tone. She tears her gaze from Lexa and turns to look at Raven. “We were busy. We had a Disney marathon and fell asleep and then I burnt breakfast.”

 

“Yeah, well, a quick text would have been nice,” grumbles Raven, limping over to the counter to set down the tray of food. “Or at least something to let me know you’re not lying dead in a gutter somewhere, Jesus.”

 

The air in the room seems to freeze, and so does Clarke. Lexa’s head is spinning but she can still see the way Clarke turns rigid. Raven hasn’t even realized what she’s said— not until she turns and sees their stricken expressions. She frowns at them for a moment before it clicks; Lexa has never seen Raven Reyes turn speechless so fast. All the color drains from Raven’s face and her cane actually shakes as she trembles.

 

“Ah, shit. Um. That was insensitive. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— “

 

“Rae, where the fuck is the hot sauce?” yells Anya from somewhere outside.

 

Raven clutches at her like a lifeline, though she walks slowly as though to prove that’s not exactly what she’s doing. She clears her throat and avoids Lexa’s gaze as she crosses the room to the door, muttering under her breath. Lexa catches the words “Anya” and “fuckin hot sauce addict” and “created a monster” before Raven’s out the door.

 

Lexa sinks back down into the couch, running her hands over her face. She’s tired, and all at once she just wants to be alone again, wants to curl up in bed and ignore the world.

 

“You okay?” asks Clarke, studying Lexa with concern again.

 

God, it’s exhausting.

 

Fortunately Anya is sweeping inside and saving Lexa from having to answer. She carries a bottle of hot sauce like a trophy, placing it next to the tray of enchiladas with triumph.

 

“Brought you some lunch,” says Anya casually as she pulls a couple water bottles from the fridge, tossing one to Lexa and placing the other on the counter upon a dismissive head shake from Clarke. “Good thing we brought extra, didn’t know you were still here, Clarke.”

 

“I’m just about to head out, actually,” says Clarke just as Raven walks through the door again, a squat bundle of black and tan fur padding in behind her.

 

“But we just got here!” says Raven, nudging the door shut with her cane after her dog makes it through. “Go lay down Gretch,” adds Raven in a high, honeyed tone, and the dog dutifully trounces around the dining table, pausing only briefly to sniff at Clarke (who pretty much ignores her). She hops up onto the couch beside Lexa, leaning up against her side, but even that doesn’t calm the storm raging inside Lexa.

 

“I know, but I have a few errands to run.” Clarke shoots a small, apologetic smile at Lexa. “I could always stop by later though? If you wanted to talk some more, Lex?”

 

Lexa can’t bring herself to answer, just continues to fiddle with the plastic wrapper on her water bottle before finally giving a jerk of a shoulder that serves as a sort of choked shrug, and distracting herself by petting soft fur. She tells herself the way her chest burns when Clarke’s face falls is not a big deal.

 

“You sure you have to go?” asks Raven, an uncharacteristic uncertainty flickering across her face as she glances between Clarke and Lexa. Lexa wonders if she can sense the tension in the air, can see the gravity of it weighing down Lexa’s shoulders as she sinks deeper into the couch.

 

“I really do, I actually have a Facetime date with Wells any minute, so—” She cuts off, jumping a little when her phone buzzes in her hands. She lifts it and smiles ruefully at everyone as she flashes the screen to them, where Wells’s smiling face fills the frame. “Speak of the devil. I’d better head out, see you guys.”

 

Anya and Raven offer goodbyes and Lexa just watches her leave, something unpleasant curdling in her stomach. They can hear her answer the call and greet Wells as she heads down the stairs, voice and footsteps growing fainter until Lexa is left there with Raven and Anya, who seem to be having a silent conversation with only their eyes. She ignores it for a time, rubbing the dog behind the ears, until she can’t take it anymore. When Lexa looks up at them their gazes flicker away from each other, and they both aim sharp, polite smiles at Lexa.

 

As usual, Anya spares little precedence as she plops down beside Lexa and kicks her foot. “How are you doing?”

 

“Fine,” says Lexa automatically.

 

“We both took off work today,” says Raven unnecessarily, sitting down in the recliner. “Thought we could hang out instead.”

 

Lexa doesn’t answer until a prompt from Anya’s elbow in her ribs. “That’s great.”

 

A stilted silence swells between them, uncertainty hanging in the air. Lexa glances up at them, heart thudding at the prospect of telling them— but she knows it’s only a matter of time. Might as well just rip the bandaid and get it over with.

 

“What’s up?” asks Raven.

 

“The in vitro worked,” says Lexa heavily. “Clarke is pregnant.”

 

She looks up after a minute when there’s no response. Raven and Anya are both looking at her with concern...and a complete lack of surprise.

 

“You knew?”

 

Raven and Anya exchange glances before nodding.

 

Lexa hates the ice that settles in the pit of her stomach. “So everyone knew and I’m the last to know?”

 

“Well, technically Shannon and Leo are…” says Raven, losing momentum when Lexa shoots a withering stare at her. “And, like, everyone else. Only we know. And Abby, obviously.”

 

Silence envelopes them. Lexa drags her hands over her face and through her hair again. She feels raw and on edge. She’s so tired but she’s not sure she could sleep.

 

“How are you feeling?” asks Anya, voice as soft as Lexa remembers ever hearing it.

 

Lexa just shakes her head, at a loss. She doesn’t want to talk about this. She hasn’t even remotely processed it yet.

 

“Did she just tell you?” says Anya. Lexa nods. Anya puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lexa.”

 

She wishes she felt something at the words, at the gesture, but Lexa doesn’t feel anything. She’s just numb, only vaguely registering the fact that she’s probably in shock. She stares at her own hands in her lap, long fingers curled in loose fists. She knows it’s obvious, can tell by the way Anya and Raven are both silent, offering only their wordless support. It does mean something, but right now Lexa can’t focus enough to feel that. She can’t feel anything, and she knows it reads all over her face, but she can’t draw up the energy to fake anything. They won’t leave her while she’s acting like this and she thinks she should want them to stay but she doesn’t. Gretchen nudges a cold wet nose into Lexa’s forearm, and Lexa reaches out automatically, fingers drifting across warm fur. She concentrates on that.

 

“Have you spoke to Gus?”

 

Even more guilt settles on Lexa’s shoulders. She wonders if soon it’ll be heavy enough to drag her through the floor. “Not yet.”

 

Anya takes a deep, steadying breath, and Lexa can tell she’s drawing on her last reserves of patience. “Lexa. You’re going to have to talk to him eventually.”

 

“And eventually I will.” Her voice is hollow. “I don’t feel like talking right now.”

 

“All right, fine. We’re not leaving you alone right now though, we’re going to stay for lunch, okay?”

 

Lexa would roll her eyes, if she had the energy. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

 

“Not babysitting. Just keeping you company.”

 

It feels too cruel to say she doesn’t want their company, and it’s easier to fall silent.

 

Anya and Raven stick around for hours, leaving Lexa sandwiched between them on the couch as they watch television while Lexa simply tunes out. She idly wonders if they think their presence alone is a help; Lexa herself wonders if it is. She appreciates everything her friends are doing for her, she does, but it’s just exhausting. It’s hard enough putting up with herself without dealing with the pitying, concerned looks her friends shoot at her when they think she’s not looking.

 

“All right, let’s dig in to these enchiladas,” announces Anya at a quarter to eleven. It’s a bit early for lunch, but at least eating gives them all something to do.

 

It does give Lexa a bit of entertainment, as she watches Anya and Raven’s beloved dog turn into the gremlin she always does when there’s the slightest hint of food. She bounces at their feet as they prepare the plates, paying no heed to her owners’ huffs of irritation and demands for her to get out of the way. She follows them back to their seats and hovers over Lexa’s plate, throwing her best puppy-dog eyes that Lexa resolutely ignores under Anya’s stern gaze.

 

“She’s such a little pig,” complains Raven when Gretchen gives up on Lexa and doesn’t even bother trying Anya, moving on to climb into the recliner with Raven instead. She ignores the arm Raven bars her with and licks at the air, nose dipping toward her half-eaten enchilada. “No, Gretch, stop.” She nudges her off the recliner, adopting a faux-scowl and shaking her head when Gretchen whines and looks up at her. “None for you, Gretchen Weiners.”

 

“Food’s good,” grunts Anya later, polishing off the last of the three enchiladas on her plate. She slides her last bite through the soup of hot sauce remaining before getting up to throw away her plate, nearly tripping over Gretchen on the way; Gretchen finally hops up onto the couch to lay down when Anya snarls at her. Lexa apologetically scratches behind Gretchen’s ears. “Lex, how’s it taste?”

 

“Good.”

 

Anya doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment at the fact that Lexa’s barely touched her plate. “You’ve taken like two bites.”

 

“I’m pretty full from breakfast. It’s more than I’m used to having lately.”

 

“Did Clarke cook?” When Lexa nods, Raven gives an amused snort. “That was brave. You better hope you don’t get food poisoning.”

 

“You need to eat more,” interrupts Anya, face hard and stony and not at all concealing the concern shining in her eyes.

 

Lexa’s already full of tension, and this just sends sparks of irritation mixing in. But she knows Anya means well, and it’s not Anya’s fault. “Yeah, I know. I’m trying.”

 

“Try harder.” Anya nudges the plate toward her and Lexa just stares at it for a moment, a muscle twitching in her clenched jaw. She meets Anya’s gaze, steel and stubbornness, and thinks of what Anya must be going through worrying about her like this. She relents, and forces herself to take another bite, chewing it mechanically. As delicious as Raven’s cooking is, it just has no taste in Lexa’s mouth. It’s difficult to swallow it down.

 

“We’re going to the store later,” says Raven to break the silence, handing  her empty plate to Anya, who carries it to the trash; Gretchen remains on the couch this time, pinned down by Anya’s arched brow. “Is there anything we can get you, anything you’re running low on?”

 

Lexa resists the urge to snort. She has more things than she even knows what to do with. Her freezer is full of lasagna, her fridge full of spoiled gifts.

 

After another half hour or so they ready to leave and invite Lexa to tag along with them to visit Tris, Anya’s niece, even though the kid lives at Anya and Raven’s more than her own home. Lexa declines. She’s more relieved than she ever remembers being in her life when she is finally, _finally_ alone again.

 

The relief doesn’t last long. After an hour or so, the quiet emptiness of her apartment begins to press in on her, and not even the increased volume of the television can stop it from reverberating in the aching confines of Lexa’s chest. She pulls up Netflix and hits continue watching on whatever Disney movie Clarke had made it halfway through last night, but she barely watches; her thoughts keep drifting back to the baby.

 

Shame burns within her, but there’s resignation there too. This is the right choice. Clarke told her to take some time to think it over, but Lexa doesn’t need time. Lexa doesn’t want it. She would be a terrible mother. Now that Costia was gone, that is all but ensured. Tears sting her eyes so she presses the heel of her hands into them until the sensation passes, until all she sees is a kaleidoscope of bursting colors. She brings her knees up to her chest and curls into her couch.

 

The reality is that Lexa has absolutely no idea how to be a mother, and that was _before_ her heart was shredded into two. How is she supposed to guide a child through life when she can’t even fix herself? Not to mention she is _more_ than aware she’s self destructing. Just look at how she’s treating the people she cares about most. She’s driving Anya up the wall, not taking care of herself the way Anya sees fit and refusing to see a therapist. Gustus has been back online for almost a week and she’s avoiding his calls because she can’t bear to explain everything to him, or worse, be comforted by him, since she’s certain Anya would have filled him in by now. She hasn’t even spoken to the McIvers since the funeral. She barely responds to Lincoln, Octavia, and Luna’s texts. Hasn’t emailed Indra back. And now she just let Clarke down too. She’s on a fucking roll and frankly it’s appalling.

 

The shame has her squeezing her eyes shut and burrowing down deeper into the couch cushion, tucking her head into the pillow. She takes a breath and then pauses, eyes opening, lashes dragging against the fabric, and she blinks rapidly as a scent fills her nose. For some reason, it sends her pulse thrumming in her ears. Confused, she wonders for a moment if she’s catching the last traces of Costia’s scent, lingering on a couch she hasn’t laid on in weeks.

 

After only a moment’s hesitation, she presses forward, the tip of her nose smashing into the pillow followed by the rest of her face. She breathes deeply. It’s clean and crisp and refreshing. Costia’s go-to was usually orange blossom, or vanilla. It was warmer, richer, than this. This is nice in a different way; makes her think of fresh air, clean soap and natural scents. Oceanic scents, she thinks absently as she nuzzles into the pillow.

 

Clarke.

 

Lexa’s eyes fly open. Clarke slept here last night. And now that she remembers that, Lexa recalls all the times she’s smelled this before, caught a whiff as Clarke walked past, breathed it in when Clarke was near. Her stomach lurches unpleasantly. Oh.

 

Lexa carefully leans back, blinking, and then slowly rolls over so the back of her head is to the pillow. She stares up at the ceiling. Clarke is _pregnant._ She can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop the guilt that festers in every inch of her. She bites at her bottom lip, chewing at the skin as she contemplates all the ways Clarke has helped her, and how Lexa seems so little help to her in comparison.

 

Still worrying her lip, Lexa pulls her phone out of her pocket. She hopes Clarke doesn’t consider this her taking the easy way out. She doesn’t hesitate; her fingers fly over her phone as she types out the messages.

 

_Lexa:_

_Just wanted to say thank you for_  
_everything you’ve done today and_ _  
_ yesterday. _It means a lot to me._

 _You’re a very good friend and I_ _  
_ _am lucky to have you._

 

She pauses, licking her lips and staring at the screen.

 

_Lexa:_

_And I want you to know that_  
_I’m here for you too._

 _I’m here for you if you need_  
_a shoulder to cry on or anything at all._  
_I’m here_

 

She wants to think Clarke won’t respond. Wants to wallow in the knowledge that she did it, she pushed her away and this is what she gets now. She wants to think Clarke will hold a grudge and won’t even talk to her until the two weeks are up.

 

Her phone buzzes almost immediately.

 

_Clarke:_

_Thank you Lexa._

_I hope you know we’re all here for you._  
_You’re so loved and we’ll all support you_  
_with whatever decision you make <3_

Lexa’s not the least bit surprised, and that’s the worst thing about it all.

 

She gets to her feet and shuffles into the bathroom before slipping into the comfort of her bedroom, drawn curtains leaving it cool and dark. The flickering candle on her nightstand that’s been lit since Lexa returned home from the morgue sends shadows sloping over the walls. Lexa slides beneath the covers and closes her eyes, burying her face in her pillow, and breathes in the last faint traces of orange blossom and vanilla.

 

\\\

 

“Baby, you’re not eating.”

 

At Abby’s concerned words, Clarke halfheartedly pokes at her lunch with the tongs of her fork and brings a small bite to her lips. She gives up after that, letting her fork clatter to the plate, and sighs when Abby gives her a stern look.

 

“I’m just not hungry, Mom.”

 

“Yes, but you’re eating for two now,” Abby points out, as though Clarke could ever forget it. Abby gives a long-suffering sigh and scoots her chair back, standing from the table and gathering their plates to take to the sink. “Is there anything else I can get you? Anything that sounds good to you?”

 

“Nothing,” says Clarke tiredly, slumping in her chair, crossing her arms and tipping her head back against the wooden frame. It’s a lie. Right now, nothing sounds better than a drink. But she definitely can’t have that, not for another nine months, so Clarke pushes it out of her mind.

 

She’s not hungry because she feels sick. She feels sick because Lexa— _Lexa._ She doesn’t even know what to do, what to think about this entire situation.

 

“What’s going on with you?” asks Abby, brow creased in concern as she returns to the table and scoots her chair closer to Clarke. She leans over, peering into Clarke’s distracted gaze with all the intensity of a doctor, pressing the back of her hand to Clarke’s forehead.

 

“It’s Lexa,” says Clarke heavily, and Abby finally draws back, understanding in her eyes. “I just...this whole situation is a mess. And I know, I’m not saying...like, it’s not the hardest on me, I get that, but I’m…”

 

“You’re in an uncomfortable position,” acknowledges Abby, nodding when Clarke does. “And don’t minimize your suffering, Clarke. It’s definitely hard on you too.”

 

Clarke is quiet for a moment, silent and still and chewing on the inside of her lower lip as she tries her best to contain the turbulent emotions swirling inside her. It’s been two days since she told Lexa she was pregnant, and she feels like she’s been choking on panic every second since. She doesn’t quite understand why she feels so blindsided— she knew this was a possibility from the beginning, that Lexa might not feel the same way. Although with what Lexa told her ( _I never wanted it_ ), Clarke has to rethink the entire situation to begin with.

 

“She said she doesn’t want it,” she says, glancing up at her mother’s expression. It hasn’t changed, so if Abby is surprised by this revelation, she doesn’t show it. “She said she can’t do it and she doesn’t want it.”

 

“Did she say what she does want?”

 

“No.” Clarke knows what her mother is asking, whether or not Lexa mentioned she wanted the baby to go to the McIvers, but she still says, “I’m sure what she _wants_ is her wife back.”

 

“That’s what we all want,” says Abby tenderly. She puts a hand over Clarke’s. “But life doesn’t work that way.”

 

“I’m aware,” says Clarke wearily, guilt squirming in her stomach at the way Abby’s face falls. She sighs and reaches up, closing her hand over her mother’s wrist when she pulls away. “Sorry, Mom.”

 

“It’s okay.” Abby is the one sighing now. “Everything about life is just a mess, baby. But we have to salvage what we can out of the pieces of it, and try to make something beautiful.” She gestures at Clarke and Clarke knows, unconsciously moving her free hand to her stomach.

 

“I just feel terrible. This isn’t what Costia wanted. We were supposed to do this together, as a team.” Clarke hates, absolutely hates, the dull rippling in her stomach and chest, a bitterness that longs to crawl up her throat. Costia left them, but it wasn’t Costia’s fault. Clarke has no right to feel angry, no right to feel alone when Lexa is the one suffering most here.

 

“I feel guilty,” she says finally, glancing up at her mother.

 

“Survivor’s guilt is a real, terrible thing,” says Abby gently, cool fingertips brushing the hair back from Clarke’s face. “I felt that way for a long time after your father died. You were so upset and he was always so much better with...he was always so much better. Sometimes I wondered, if it had been me and not him, if you— “

 

Clarke stops her with a hand to Abby’s wrist, stilling her. Abby falls silent. She gives a tremulous smile when Clarke softly squeezes her wrist before letting go, and after a moment Abby continues sweeping her hands through Clarke’s hair.

 

“It’s a natural part of grieving. Lexa is feeling the same way, and I’m sure Shannon and Leo are too.”

 

“That’s just it,” says Clarke, the unpleasant clenching of her stomach doubling down at the mention of them. “It’s not fair that they aren’t involved in this, is it? _You_ know I’m pregnant, but they don’t.”

 

“You don’t want to get their hopes up,” murmurs Abby. “Just in case…”

 

“Just in case Lexa doesn’t even want this baby to be born?” Clarke doesn’t mean for it to say it like a challenge. Her mother just looks at her. “Lexa said she’s _never_ wanted this. What is that supposed to mean? What am I supposed to do with that?”

 

“Is that what she said?” At Clarke’s nod, Abby shakes her head. “I’m sure she’s saying things she doesn’t mean. It’s her grief talking. It is Lexa we’re talking about here. She would never let herself be dragged into such a big decision.” Clarke pauses at that, relief trickling through at the truth. “I’m sure she’s nervous at the prospect of being a mother, and now she’s terrified at the very real fact that she’ll be a single-mother. Raising a child is hard enough without doing it on your own.”

 

“But she’s not on her own! She’s not,” insists Clarke when Abby just looks at her with this soft hopelessness. “I’m— we’re all here for her.”

 

“It’s still not the same,” says Abby.

 

“I know that. I just mean…” Clarke changes tact to the next issue worrying her. “What if she doesn’t even want to keep it? What if she wants me to abort it?”

 

“Have you asked her that?”

 

“Of course not,” says Clarke. “I’m just...waiting to hear back from her, for now.”

 

“And have you?”

 

“She texted me after I left her apartment and that’s the last we spoke. I told her to take a couple weeks to think about it.”

 

“A couple weeks isn’t very long.”

 

“Well, that’s when the ultrasound is.”

 

“Ah.” Abby nods. For a moment they’re both quiet, Clarke trying to focus on the comforting rhythm of Abby stroking her hair rather than the stress curdling in her gut. Then Abby says, “Have you talked to Wells lately?”

 

“We Facetimed a couple days ago, right after I left Costia’s.” Clarke hesitates, a pained expression crossing her face. Abby soothingly brushes her hair back. “Um. He’s, he’s doing good. Enjoying London. Says he misses the pizza here though.”

 

“I’d imagine so,” hums Abby, lips quirking. “I nearly starved when I visited England.”

 

With that, Abby delves into stories about her trip abroad years ago, and they spend the afternoon together. Clarke appreciates what her mother is trying to do— keep her company and keep her distracted from the despair threatening to swallow her whole— but truthfully...she kinda just wants to be alone with her thoughts.

 

She feels as though she’s been on tenterhooks waiting for a decision that could possibly still be a long way off. It’s only been two days, after all, yet she can’t help checking her phone every five minutes for a text she knows won’t be there. Sometimes she opens a new message and her thumbs hover aboard her screen...before she thinks better of it and shoves her phone back into her pocket. She needs to give Lexa some space. She can do that. There’s just one problem.

 

She misses her.

 

She misses her, and she misses Costia, and she misses what life used to be, back when it made sense. Sunny afternoons meeting Costia at the park on their lunch breaks, lazy nights in huddled on the couch, Costia sandwiched between her and Lexa, Game of Thrones playing on the TV. She misses teaming up with Costia to tease Lexa, teaming up with Lexa to tease Costia, playfully defending herself when Costia and Lexa teamed up to tease her. She misses how she and Lexa would dramatically act as though they were starving while Costia cooked whatever delicious meal she was working on; misses the high peals of Costia’s laughter over the sizzling of the pan. She just misses them.

 

Clarke’s having trouble sleeping again. She wakes up at night, wandering around her empty home. In terms of her feelings about the fact that she lives alone, she’s always been pretty neutral. Sometimes it gets too quiet, too lonely, but it’s also nice having so much space to herself. She’s lived here since grad school, since her mother moved out and in with Marcus, leaving the old home they shared with Jake to Clarke. She brushes her hand along the walls as she descends the stairs, fingertips tracing over the edges of the few photographs remaining. She took most of them down a few years ago, once she finally felt strong enough to do so. She thinks of Lexa’s apartment, how Costia is no longer alive but still living all over that place, and can’t imagine when Lexa will feel strong enough to do the same.

Thinking of Lexa gives her a craving for hot chocolate (always Lexa’s go-to at Grounders), so she fixes herself a mug and stands at the counter sipping it. It’s past midnight and drizzling outside, and it’s almost enough to feel at peace. Almost.

 

It’s Lexa’s birthday tomorrow. She absently thumbs the handle of her mug as she contemplates what she can do for her. She doesn’t know if she’s allowed to do anything— if Lexa would want that, or if she wants utter radio silence for two weeks while she makes her decision. The thought that she can’t do anything for her makes Clarke uneasy, but she’s determined to give her the space she needs.

 

At the same time...she doesn’t want her to feel alone or forgotten, especially on her birthday, and especially so soon after losing her wife. Surely she could be there for her? They don’t have to talk about the baby.

 

She finishes her hot chocolate and makes her way back to bed. She lays there for a while, head filled with ideas, before finally succumbing to sleep, a hand on her belly.

 

\\\

 

The following evening finds Clarke standing outside Lexa’s door, practically on her toes with anticipation and clutching a bottle of champagne— _the_ bottle, the one that she bought with Costia to celebrate— in one hand, the other holding a boxed cake propped against her hip. Lincoln and Octavia are right behind her, the loud chattering of children echoing up the stairwell ahead of their arrival.

 

She still hasn’t spoken to Lexa since she told her she was pregnant, beyond sending her a lame Happy Birthday gif this morning that she never responded to (what a great success _that_ was), so she’s hoping this surprise birthday party will help bridge the awkwardness between them. It was actually Anya’s suggestion, and Clarke is fairly certain she and Raven are already here— she can smell Raven’s cooking permeating the shut door.

 

“Artie, if you don’t calm down,” barks Octavia as her son goes storming forward, nearly knocking into his father as he races his twin to the door. Octavia balances a veggie tray on one hand, reaching back with the other to guide Ethan forward, his dog Nemo trotting along beside him.

 

“Settle down,” warns Lincoln quietly. The boys mostly listen but Clarke is still crowded by them, looking down at Nyko with a smile when he pokes at the box of cake.

 

“What kinda cake is it?” asks Artigas, eager on her other side.

 

“It’s not chocolate,” says Clarke easily, smiling slightly at their crestfallen faces. “Sorry.”

 

“What’s the hold up?” asks Octavia as she reaches them, and then Clarke realizes with a jolt she’s yet to even knock.

 

She’s barely raised her fist to the door when it swings open to reveal Anya, expression disgruntled, a party hat perched perilously atop her head.  They flood into the apartment and Clarke is relieved that though it’s only been three days since she was last here, it’s not returned to ruin again. Tris is on the couch blowing up balloons, and Nyko and Artigas are immediately bounding her way, Ethan and Nemo trailing behind them. Raven is at the kitchen counter, arranging the meal she’d prepared. Lexa is nowhere to be seen and Clarke wonders if she’s hiding out in her bedroom.

 

“Hey,” Raven greets them, briefly looking up from the brisket she’s cutting in to.

 

“Hey babe.” Clarke sets the cake down on the counter and slips the champagne into the fridge. “Where’s Lexa?”

 

“What do you mean?” Raven stills and glances up again, her brow furrowing. “She’s not with you?”

 

Clarke exchanges a baffled look with Octavia. “Well no. She lives here, why would she be with us?”

 

Anya groans, swiping her party hat off and tossing it onto the counter. “Great. She told us earlier she was going for a run and then stopping by Linc’s to grab a ride back.”

 

“I haven’t seen her at all,” says Lincoln.

 

“Fuck.” Anya sighs, running a hand through her hair and leaving it wild and mussed. There are shadows under her eyes and Clarke realizes this birthday party probably means more to Anya than she’s let on. “Great. Where the hell is she, then?”

 

“I have an idea,” says Clarke heavily. She pulls her keys out of her pocket, already heading for the door.

 

“I’m coming with you,” says Anya.

 

It’s warm out today, the sky a clear cloudless blue that seems to stretch on forever. The car is already hot from sitting out in it, so for several minutes the only sound during the drive over is the blast of the air-con. Then Anya gives a huff of breath and cranks it down.

 

“She’s at the cemetery again isn’t she,” says Anya flatly.

 

“That’s what I’m guessing.”

 

“Of course.” It took a long time to understand the blunt way Anya speaks isn’t deliberate impertinence, it’s just how she is. It’s weird to think Clarke has known Anya even longer than Lexa, ever since she taught a self-defense class on campus.

 

“That’s where I found her the other day,” says Clarke, turning down Main Street. “I think it’s where she hangs out every day.”

 

“It is.” Anya sits in the passenger seat with one leg up, an elbow propped on it. Clarke is tempted to make a joke about it, how lesbians sit in their chairs, but now is not the time and Anya’s never been a fan of labels anyway.  

 

They turn into the cemetery and head down the path. They both frown when they see the area surrounding Costia’s grave is empty, nothing there but wilting sunflowers scattered around the bench.

 

“Where is she?” mutters Clarke, allowing the car to roll further down the path.

 

It takes another couple minutes of driving through before they find her.

 

“There she is,” says Anya suddenly, pointing. Her eyes narrow and she leans closer to the window, the tip of her nose nearly smudging the glass. “What is she doing?”

 

Clarke parks the car and peers out at the figure sprawled in the grass atop the hill overlooking the cemetery. She’d say Lexa was cloud-gazing, if there were any clouds.

 

“Going blind, it looks like,” mutters Anya after a second later. “Jesus.” She scrubs hands over her face, shaking her head. “Would you go get her? She snaps at me every time and I’m— God, I’m tired. Don’t tell her I said that.”

 

“I won’t,” Clarke promises, pulling off her seatbelt. She leaves the car in park, air-con running, and hops out of the vehicle.

 

Lexa’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts, trainers mud-scuffed. Her hair is wound into a messy braid and the sharp jut of her cheekbones shows the change her diminished appetite has had on her diet. She’s dark under tired eyes. Still, she actually hears her coming this time. Clarke’s halfway up the hill when Lexa sits up, twisting her head around to look at Clarke.

 

“Hey.” Clarke tries not to show how taken aback she is when Lexa gives her a small, tired smile. “This is becoming a habit.”

 

Returning the smile, Clarke swings down to sit beside her. “Not sure twice constitutes a habit, but I’m glad we’ve got a system going. What are you doing?”

 

Lexa takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly as she looks down the hill, glancing at the car where Anya can be seen sitting on her phone. “Avoiding the party Anya decided to throw for me.”

 

“It wasn’t just Anya,” says Clarke, a doleful curve to her lips. “It was all of us. It’s your birthday, we didn’t want you to be alone. We just want to help.”

 

It takes Lexa a moment to answer, as though she’s chewing on her words first, trying not to let them sting when she finally says, “All everyone does is try to help. I don’t want help. I just want to...to stop feeling.” Clarke opens her mouth but before she can say anything, Lexa is lifting her hand and waving it dismissively. “Look, I’m tired. I’m so tired of talking about this, everything is so depressing and talking about it just makes it feel worse. Let’s just...can we just sit here?” She turns grey-green eyes on Clarke, pleading. “Please?”

 

“Of course,” says Clarke, swallowing thickly and ignoring her dry mouth. Lexa looks away and it’s a bit easier to breathe then.

 

They sit in silence for a time, birds chirping. Clarke is painfully conscious of the last conversation they had, and how it ended. She resists the urge to put a hand on her stomach. Clarke glances back at Anya, sees her discreetly look up from her phone to meet Clarke’s eye, and thinks perhaps Anya hasn’t actually been on her phone at all.

 

Clarke casts her gaze around the graveyard. It’s late afternoon on a warm, lazy Sunday, so there are only a few people pottering around, placing arrangements on their loved one’s graves. Clarke’s gaze trails over to the marble headstone sat in the shade of a weeping willow, just beyond a small bridge stretching over a rainwater trench that glistens in the sunlight. The way her heart aches is more muted now, accompanied with a sort of fondness that tastes almost bittersweet.

 

“Do you want to walk over there?”

 

Clarke startles, meeting Lexa’s gaze.

 

“That’s where your dad is buried.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Lexa knows it is, though Clarke doesn’t know how. She supposes Costia must have told her at some point.

 

“Do you want to go over there?” she asks again. Lexa is sincere, looking at her with a soft understanding in her eyes that has Clarke’s throat feeling tight all over again. She clears it and shakes her head, dragging her gaze away.

 

Clarke is private with her grief. She always has been. And so is Lexa— Lexa doesn’t try to speak but just nods and turns away. They sit reticent together on the hilltop for a time, Jake’s grave a distance before them, Costia’s grave behind them. It isn’t until Anya honks the car that they startle. A glance at her watch tells Clarke they’ve been sitting here for nearly half an hour.

 

“Are you ready?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

 

“Not particularly.” Lexa doesn’t sigh, but her shoulders sag as though with the effort. “Then again, when am I ever in the mood to socialize?”

 

“Well, it’s only us. Just me, Anya, Rae, O, Linc, and the kids. Brisket and barbecue and some cake and ice cream, no talking required. We just want to be there for you, that’s all. If you want space, we’ll all go. Okay? But Lex, it’s not healthy to cut yourself off and I really think it could be good for you to just...have some company on your birthday.”

 

Lexa considers it, slanting a thoughtful gaze on her. Clarke forces herself to hold it, looking into grey-green eyes and ignoring the squirming in her stomach, the ever-present panic buried just beneath as she wonders what Lexa is thinking, what decision she’s coming to regarding the fate of the little one she carries inside. Now is definitely not the time. Lexa asked for time, Clarke will give her time. She won’t bring it up unless Lexa does.

 

“Did you say ice cream?” asks Lexa finally.

 

It pulls a grin from Clarke. She gets to her feet, extends a hand for Lexa's, and her heart flutters at the fact that Lexa so readily takes it, clasping her forearm for a brief moment before Clarke lifts her up.

 

* * *

  

 

> _The orange trees refused to blossom_
> 
> _unless we bloomed first_
> 
> _when we met_
> 
> _they wept tangerines_
> 
> _can't you tell_
> 
> _the earth has waited its whole life for this_
> 
> \- Rupi Kaur (The Sun and All Her Flowers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will pick up right where this leaves off. Should be up within the month. Please feel free to hit me up on tumblr at dreamsaremywords or the clexa-surrogacy-au blog if you have any questions, I'll be happy to answer them :D 
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this chapter <3


	4. The Elephant in the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa has a decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys SO much for all your comments! They seriously make my day and inspire me to keep going so, thank you. I am very eager to hear your thoughts on this chapter! It's heavy but hopefully the ending is cathartic in a way. Idk I just hope you like it! And please remember, be nice to them :) they're both mourning and there are a lot of aspects about them that obviously haven't been revealed yet since we're still at the beginning of the story! This is most certainly a process!
> 
> Pretty please go to the clexa-surrogacy-au blog if you have any questions/doubts/concerns regarding this story, because it's likely someone's already asked me and I've already answered (some examples: "I just don't see how Lexa's going to fall in love so soon" and "I think the baby should belong to Lexa/Costia" etc).

 

> _I had all_
> 
> _and then most of you_
> 
> _Some_
> 
> _and now none of you...  
>  _
> 
> _I don't know what I'm supposed to do_
> 
> _Haunted by the ghost of you_
> 
> _-The Night we Met by Lord Huron[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtlgYxa6BMU)_

 

* * *

 

 

The ride back is quiet. Lexa climbs into the backseat and does nothing more than exchange a succinct nod with Anya, who merely sardonically comments something about Lexa arriving late to her own party, which causes Lexa to suppress a smile— particularly when she catches Clarke smirking in the rearview mirror, as she tends to do when Lexa is teased about anything. Lexa sticks her tongue out at her, Clarke laughs and Anya looks at her confused, and with the sun shining down on them as they drive, Clarke marvels at how some things can turn out so good even amidst all the sorrow.

 

By the time they return to the apartment, there are twice as many balloons. Nyko and Artigas are shouting with laughter as they play a game with their father, smacking a balloon using anything but their hands with the back of the couch as a makeshift net, with Tris serving as their smiling referee and Ethan their most enthusiastic fan, clapping in joy every time one of his brothers lands a silly hit with an elbow or forehead. Raven and Octavia are chatting, sipping champagne at the countertop. Everyone greets them exuberantly when they walk through the doors, shouting Happy Birthdays at Lexa, who thanks them with a tired smile.

 

The evening goes well. It feels as though Clarke spends it with Lexa always in the corners of her eyes; she hovers, anxious and determined to make sure Lexa has a good time, or as good as she can all things considered. This is the first of many birthdays she’ll spend without Costia, so of course it’s difficult, but she hopes they’ve at least made her feel less alone. If anything, the kids are at least keeping her distracted, encouraging her to join them in a game of balloon-soccer until the balloon accidentally pops and they take a break as Octavia comforts Ethan, who was frightened by the loud noise. Nemo lays his head in Ethan’s lap and Lexa joins Anya, Raven, and Tris at the table. While the room is quiet and calm, Clarke gets up to ready the cake.

 

Everyone further quiets when Clarke hits the light switch and carries the cake across the kitchen.

 

“What is this?” asks Lexa, eyes wide.

 

“Happy Birthday,” says Clarke, carefully placing the cake on the table, frowning and relighting one of the candles when it goes out. “It’s lemon cake.” She finally forces herself to look up at Lexa’s reaction, and her heart flutters at the smile overtaking Lexa’s face. She hasn’t seen her give more than a half-smile since before Costia’s death. “Your favorite, right?”

 

Lexa nods, biting her bottom lip to curb her smile. Clarke wants to tell her not to; she hasn’t seen Lexa give more than a half-smile since before Costia’s death and she doesn’t want her to hide it. She’s tempted to reach out, free the lip with her thumb. She doesn’t. “This is— you didn’t have to do this. You already go through enough trouble for me—”

 

“I wanted to,” Clarke cuts her off, smiling gently when Lexa just looks at her, worrying her lip again. “You’d do the same for me.”

 

“Well. I’d probably buy you a cake instead.” Lexa’s eyes slowly brighten at Clarke’s light laugh. “You wouldn’t want a homemade cake from me.”

 

“I’m not going to argue with you. I remember your last attempt.” They pause, remembering the time Lexa attempted baking a coconut cake for the Christmas party. She’d ended up accidentally using old milk and it had been...well, a disaster to say the least, mostly because Raven ended up vomiting it into the tree, along with a substantial amount of whiskey.

 

“Let’s not talk about that,” interrupts Raven, who appears similarly pale and queasy at the memory. “All right, everyone ready? One, two, a one two three four!”

 

The room fills with their chorus of voices. Lexa seems mollified and touched, looking around at all of them, sparing soft smiles at the children. It makes Clarke ache again. Despite any misgivings Lexa apparently has, she’s always been so great with kids. Lexa’s eyes shift onto Clarke last, the flickering flames of the candles between them, and Lexa drops her gaze after hardly a moment, eyes focusing on the cake.

 

 _“Happy Birthday to you,”_ they finish singing.

 

Artie launches into an obnoxious, _“and many more, on channel four, and scooby doo, on channel two, and frankenstein, on channel nine,”_ with increasing volume until his mother gives him a look and he trails off with a grin and a muttered _“and that’s the end on channel ten.”_ Lexa shoots him a small smile before staring down the cake again, licking her lips. Clarke watches them part as Lexa takes in a breath, and then smoke fills the air as Lexa extinguishes the lot with one fell puff.

 

“Let’s cut into this baby,” says Octavia, somehow already brandishing a knife. Lincoln sets about placing scoops of vanilla ice cream onto paper plates.

 

While they pass out plates of cake and ice cream to everyone, Clarke and Anya place a small stack of cards and presents before Lexa.

 

“Guys,” she says reproachfully, frowning at the (mostly) neatly wrapped presents. “You didn’t need to do this…”

 

“It’s no different than any other year,” says Anya with a roll of her eyes. She realizes what she’s said a second later, when all lightness fades from Lexa’s face. It’s like watching the shutters draw over her eyes.

 

“The kids wrapped this one,” says Octavia suddenly, attempting to salvage the evening. She points at the biggest box. It garners the attention of Artigas and Nyko, who momentarily abandon their almost-consumed desserts to jump up next to Lexa shouting who did what.

 

Lexa blinks rapidly, arms automatically going around the two as they clamor in for her attention, pointing out the messy tape and the ripped wrinkles in the wrapping. Anya grimaces at the glower everyone else shoots at her, mouthing an apology.

 

Upon the children’s encouraging, Lexa opens her first present. She snorts and the kids cheer; it’s a pie face game. After assuring Lexa the kids have been dying to play that with her, Anya pushes the next present at Lexa, and then another, then another. Books, candles, bubble bath, flowers, the usual haul. Lexa politely murmurs her thanks and gratitude to everyone, and then they all stuff themselves with cake and ice cream. It’s just box cake but Clarke’s relieved it turned out okay, and pleased that Lexa’s actually eating, considering she didn’t have much of the brisket and veggies. She watches Lexa closely, the way she seems to be making an effort. Her smile is a bit wooden as she interacts with everyone but she is clearly trying to enjoy herself and Clarke aches with it.

 

The evening has been lovely but there’s such an obvious, gaping hole here for all of them. Costia’s absence has never been more felt lately. Clarke turns her back to everyone to hide the tears stinging in her eyes, taking a breath to steady her hands as she begins clearing up.

 

\\\

 

It’s not been a total disaster. Lexa can admit that. It’s actually been...nice.

 

Still, she can’t help but be relieved when it’s almost eight and everyone begins readying to leave. Ethan and Nyko both fell asleep, curled up on the couch with Nemo between them; Lincoln manages to carry both boys to the car, even though Nyko is significantly heavier now, with Nemo and a tired Artigas dutifully following behind them. Lexa hovers in the doorway exchanging goodbyes with them all, hugging Octavia back before waving them out.

 

Raven and Anya insist on putting the food in tupperware and cramming it into Lexa’s fridge, even though Lexa knows most of it will probably be wasted. She waves goodbye to them after a brief hug with Tris, and then turns around to see Clarke standing at the sink still doing dishes.

 

“Hey, you don’t have to do those,” says Lexa quickly, shutting the door and crossing the room to her. “I can get them. You’ve done enough.”

 

Clarke just hums, continuing to wash out the empty cake pan. “I’m glad to see my cake didn’t poison you.”

 

“It was good.” Lexa pauses, trying to remember the cooking shows she’d watched with Costia. “Very moist.”

 

Clarke snorts. The quiet tinkling of glass sounds as Clarke finishes up, turning off the water and setting the dishes in the rack to dry. Lexa waits, calmly slipping into a seat at the table. She absently strokes the pad of her thumb across the petals of the peonies Clarke had given her for her birthday— her favorite. There’s a bouquet of roses Gustus had sent her as well, in a vase in the center of the table. The combined sweet aromas of the flowers fill the air and Lexa closes her eyes for a moment, breathing it in. When she opens them, Clarke is leaning a hip against the counter, watching her.

 

“Should we talk about the elephant in the room?” asks Clarke softly.

 

Lexa’s heart seems to impale itself upon her rib cage. She immediately averts her gaze, instead examining the deep pink of the peony petals, thumb slipping down to graze the coarse sepal. It’s not that she isn’t planning to answer Clarke. She just needs a moment to gather her thoughts. A thousand words sit on her tongue and she’s afraid to open her mouth; she doesn’t know what will come out.

 

“Or we can wait the two weeks,” continues Clarke, walking forward to ease down into the chair beside Lexa’s. “I don’t mean to rush you or anything. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t want to talk about it?”

 

Lexa can imagine it now; opening her mouth and allowing the shadows to fly out. Can envision the look of devastation striking Clarke’s face. She doesn’t want to see it.

 

Clarke doesn’t push. Lexa opens her eyes to see Clarke make an odd jerking movement, hand reaching for Lexa before deviating course, sailing across the table for the almost-empty bottle of champagne. Clarke drops it down a moment later, cursing, clearly remembering she can’t drink any. Lexa can’t help the quirk of her lips at it, quietly amused. Clarke notices, and her face softens too, a curious smile curling the corner of her own lips.

 

“You seem lighter today,” she observes.

 

Lexa considers it for a moment. “I had a dream last night.” The first dream she can even remember having  in over a month. “About— her.”

 

Clarke looks as surprised as Lexa feels at her open admission. She blinks, lashes rising and falling in rapid succession over warm blue eyes. “You dreamt about Costia?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What was it about?”

 

Lexa takes a breath, exhales it slowly. She focuses on the texture of the petal beneath her fingers as she speaks. “I can’t remember much of it. We were in our old dorm— our first one, from sophomore year. But we still had our jobs somehow. She came back from work and had a cupcake with a candle in it. She started singing to me but the dream flashed forward. Then we were in the kitchen and she was wearing these rainbow fuzzy socks and asked me what I wanted to do today and that’s pretty much all I can remember. I know it’s not much,” she adds when Clarke is just quiet, watching her with a sad curve to her lips, “But...it felt like she was saying hello. Is that strange?”

 

“Not at all.” Clarke reaches up to grasp the champagne bottle in her hands, absently sweeping a thumb over the peeling label. “I used to have dreams about my dad too. At first they were nightmares. Then, after time passed, they were just nice dreams. Felt kinda like a hug every time I had them. I don’t have them very much anymore. I miss them. And him.” She shrugs. “You know, I had a conversation about them with Mrs Yo once.”

 

Lexa lifts a brow, prompting Clarke to continue.

 

“It was years ago and I can’t even remember how we got around to it, but she was talking about dreaming about her husband and that her grandma always told her that loved ones who have passed away will come back to visit us in our dreams. So every time she dreamt about him it was like a nice little reunion.”

 

“That’s nice. I like that,” says Lexa. That was what it felt like dreaming about Costia, like she popped in for a visit. It had given her this golden bubble of peace to carry around in her chest with her today, which was nice considering she’d spent most of the night dreading today. Her first birthday without her since she was eighteen.

 

“I wish I was one of those lucid dreamers,” muses Clarke. “You know, people who are like, aware they’re dreaming and they can sort of control them? That would be cool.”

 

“Sounds like one of those Netflix shows you guys always watched.” Another fissure to the bubble. It’s been cracking all day, but every time Lexa gets too close to thinking about her…

 

Clarke chuckles. “Yeah, guess it does.”

 

“I used to do that sometimes, when I was a kid.”

 

Clarke looks up at her, brows raising. “Really?”

 

Lexa nods. “Not every time, but often. I always knew I was dreaming and sometimes I’d watch them at the same time as experiencing them, if that makes sense.”

 

“Not really, but it sounds awesome. What kind of dreams did you have?”

 

Lexa tips her face back, memories washing over her. “All kinds. My favorites were the flying ones.”

 

Clarke’s face lights up. “I’ve had those! They’re the best. So freeing.”

 

“They were my favorite, but many of them were stressful. I’d have the power of flight and somehow slowly lose it, and I’d spend the dream trying to regain the ability but I’d almost always wake up before I could figure it out.”

 

“Aw.” Clarke wrinkles her nose. “I always had a lot of dreams where I was killing people.”

 

Lexa huffs in amusement. “That’s depressing.”

 

“Yeah, they weren’t very fun. I did have this one cool recurring dream, though. I was some explorer-type, like Indiana Jones. I’d go to these random places, jungles and stuff, and hunt for treasure.”

 

Lexa imagines it, entertained by the notion of Clarke in that role, more so by how unrealistic it is. Clarke can’t even stand camping. She knows because Costia had tried multiple times to get Clarke to come with them on trips, and Clarke always point-blank refused, citing bugs and heat and sleeping on the ground as factors. Personally, Lexa finds her crazy. Lexa loves camping, loves the outdoors.

 

“Maybe you should do it one day,” suggests Lexa. “Just to experience it.”

 

“What, go spelunking in the Amazon jungles? No thank you. I’ve watched enough Man Vs Wild to know better.”

 

Lexa snorts. “It could be an adventure, Clarke. The experience of visiting such a place would be worth it alone.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. I’m not about to eat bugs and who knows what else.” Clarke shakes her head, smiling.

 

They lapse into silence. It’s not awkward, exactly. It never has been between them. But it feels undeniably strange, being friends without Costia. It’s not that they can’t be, it’s just that... she’s always been there, connecting them. And now she’s just gone and it’s like her ghost is everywhere, the room is saturated with it, and Lexa doesn’t know who she’s kidding, having a bit of happiness today. She doesn’t even deserve it, not while she’s here and Costia is...not.

 

She can feel it, crumpling in on herself like she’s a balled up piece of paper, thin and ruined. Her shoulders sag with it. She slumps back in her chair, planting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. The despair that spirals within her is sudden and dizzying. Costia is dead. Costia just died and Lexa just had a party, opened presents, blew out candles, smiled and enjoyed herself. Without her. It’s only been a month. What is she _doing?_

 

“Hey, where’d you go?” Clarke reaches out, puts a tentative hand on Lexa’s forearm that seems to burn. “Come back.”

 

 _There is no coming back from this,_ echoes a voice in Lexa’s head. She resolutely shoves it away, shaken, and now there are tears stinging her eyes and she can’t even draw a breath in. It splinters and shreds at her throat, and she just wants to sleep and sleep and sleep. There’s a coldness and an emptiness spreading within her and she welcomes it back with a strange relief, sinking into it, shivering.

 

“I can’t do this,” whispers Lexa, voice muffled in the heels of her hands. She barely registers her palms are wet.

 

“Do what?” Clarke whispers back, fingers smoothing over Lexa’s arm, thumb brushing over her pulse reassuringly.

 

“Figure this all out. Have a baby. I can’t do it.”

 

“Lexa…” Clarke’s voice is so soft, so soothing, Lexa lifts her face out of her hands and looks at her, cheeks wet. “You can’t make rash decisions like that.”

 

“What would you do?”

 

That brings Clarke up short.

 

“What would you do, if it were you?” insists Lexa.

 

“I can’t answer that because I’m not you,” says Clarke honestly. “All I can give you is my opinion and you can do what you want with it.” At Lexa’s nod prompting her to continue, Clarke takes a breath. “Well...I mean, I can’t tell you what to do. This is your decision and only yours, Lexa. But...I do think that you should be open to the possibility of this. It could be...like you said, it could be an adventure.”

 

Yes, except that involves visiting a new place. This involves raising a _child._

 

“And you’re not alone,” Clarke reminds her, faltering a bit before steamrolling forward. “I know it feels like it, but you’re not. We’re all here for you. And I’m going to be going through this every step with you, we’re— we’re experiencing this together. Why not do it? Let’s make an adventure out of it.”

 

Lexa ignores it, and instead asks, “What about Shannon and Leo?”

 

Clarke tilts her head. “What about them?”

 

“I want them to have it.”

 

Clarke pauses, eyes widening, something flashing across them too quickly for Lexa to catch but it makes her heart constrict nonetheless, guilt swimming in her gut.

 

“You really don’t want it?” She seems to realize the emotion in her hushed voice and blinks, shaking her head slightly before clearing her throat and trying again. “You mean...you mean you’ve already decided? You’re sure?”

 

“I’ve already made up my mind,” says Lexa. “It will be better for the baby to have a more stable upbringing. Shannon and Leo will give it the best home. The baby will grow up with an older brother to look after it, it’ll have experienced caregivers who are more emotionally stable and…it just makes sense. It’s the rational decision, Clarke.”

 

A crease forms in Clarke’s forehead as her brow furrows and her countenance clouds over. “A rational decision?” she says incredulously. “This isn’t— this isn’t something you can just chalk up as the most sensible route to go. You can’t just shut off and make this decision with your head, Lexa. You have to follow your heart here.”

 

Lexa barely stops herself from scoffing. Clarke notices, her expression darkening.

 

“I’m serious,” she says sharply. “I don’t— I swear I don’t mean to push. And I know I can be pushy sometimes. But in this situation...you can’t just shut down to do this, this is huge!”

 

“I know it is,” snaps Lexa, starting to lose her patience.

 

“Do you?” challenges Clarke. “Because you’re acting like you’ve shut yourself down so you can’t even feel anything. This baby is _yours_ , Lexa. You and Costia made this happen. You’re just going to _abandon_ it?”

 

 _“Clarke.”_ Lexa’s eyes flash and it’s a warning, but Clarke doesn’t pay it any mind.

 

“No, look, if you decided this because you genuinely didn’t want it then that’s one thing, but I don’t think that’s how you feel. I think you just don’t _want_ to feel. And that isn’t what you should base a decision on, this isn’t what Costia would want!”

 

For a long moment, Lexa just listens to the rush of blood pounding in her ears. Clarke is frozen in her seat; she seems to know she may have crossed a line, but she’s not doing anything to retreat either. Lexa finally drags her gaze up, meets Clarke’s eyes and finds them heated with obstinacy, a flicker of trepidation half buried in the depths of blue irises. Guilt twists in Lexa’s stomach and just like that, all the fight floods out of her. She’s so tired.

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” she finally says, voice not quite masking its tremble. “But I’ve made this decision with my head, not my heart.”

 

Clarke’s gaze softens, but she doesn’t give up. “Please, just wait. Just think about it.”

 

“That’s all I’ve been doing!”

 

“I know, I know,” placates Clarke, desperation and urgency still in her eyes even as she schools her expression into one more neutral. “But take longer. Take the full two weeks. Come to the ultrasound and talk to the doctor and then— and then see what you think. Please?”

 

Lexa falls silent, mulling it over.

 

“Maybe,” she relents. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime I...I need some space to myself to think. Okay?”

 

Clarke wets her lip, throat dipping as she swallows, and nods. “Okay. Thank you, Lexa.”

 

 _You don’t have to thank me._ Lexa just tiredly shakes her head, but Clarke seems to get the gist. She squeezes Lexa’s wrist— Lexa nearly jolts, she’d forgotten Clarke was holding her— and slides out of her chair. She walks behind Lexa out of view and the rustling of clothing makes Lexa think she’s readying to leave, but then Clarke appears beside her at the table again.

 

“This is your other birthday present from me and my mom,” says Clarke apprehensively, sliding a neatly wrapped book-sized gift onto the table before Lexa. “I didn’t want you to have to open it earlier with everyone around, in case it...makes you emotional.” The wrapping is a bright blue decorated with little sunflowers. That sight alone has Lexa’s throat closing up. “I hope it...brings you some peace, and reminds you of happy times.”

 

She pauses a moment, in case Lexa responds, but gives a nod and pulls back when she doesn’t. She starts toward the door, but Lexa reaches back to catch her wrist at the last moment. “Thank you,” she manages. “And...I’m—”

 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” says Clarke with half a laugh. Lexa looks up at her and her heart pangs unpleasantly at how unnaturally bright Clarke’s eyes are, glistening with unshed tears. She looks back at Lexa, takes a breath that hitches in her throat. “Can I— can I please hug you?”

 

She intends to tell her she doesn’t have to ask, but she gets as far as her name before she’s already out of her seat and pulling her into a tight hug. Warmth floods through Lexa, a shaky sigh dragging up from the caverns of her lungs. But as quickly as it began, it’s over. Clarke pulls back after hardly any time and Lexa immediately mirrors the movement. They stand feet apart, silence filling the space between them until Clarke gives a sniffle that shatters it, feet shuffling as she moves backwards towards the door.

 

“Happy Birthday, Lexa,” she murmurs, grabbing her keys off the countertop beside the door. She reaches behind herself to open it and slips out, closing it with a quiet snap.

 

Lexa remains standing, alone. She stares at the door for a long moment before slowly gravitating back to the kitchen table. It’s full of evidence that people are thinking of her— heartfelt cards, flowers from Clarke and Gustus, candles from Indra and the McIvers, books from Anya, Raven, Lincoln and Octavia, a few other bits and bobs from the kids, and a giftcard to Grounder’s Cafe from her neighbor Mrs. Yo. And now there’s this, and Clarke said it was from her _and_ Abby, but this has Clarke written all over it.

 

Lexa picks up the present and carries it with her to the couch, peeling back the wrapping, and then she’s holding a scrapbook in her hands and her eyes are already brimming over. It’s artistic and carefully crafted. The photo opening on the cover contains a pressed sunflower and Lexa just knows it’s one from the funeral. Tears already rolling down her cheeks, she opens it up. The first picture is one of her favorites— a [ photograph ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b96443b4385b51d9a5db76b8ee7d3ee9/tumblr_pbu5ixzzI11xa4404o2_640.png) from college, when she and Costia spent their lunch period having an impromptu picnic outside the library.

 

The scrapbook is filled with memories. They aren’t of all of their friends, they’re just pictures of Costia, of she and Costia together. Lexa loses herself in them, growing more anguished with every turn of the page. Clarke has just given her one of the most priceless gifts ever but Lexa also wants to fling it out of the window because she can’t take it, she can’t stand this. It can’t be real. None of this can be real. Surely any moment Costia is going to walk through the front door bearing a toothy grin and carrying the lit cupcake from Lexa’s dream.

 

She looks through the book over and over again, until she worries her tears are going to ruin it and she carefully, reverently, places it on the nightstand beside her bed, and lays down, watching the way the candlelight flickers over the glass covering the pressed sunflower.

 

\\\

 

_Two weeks later_

 

The sun is sweltering. Lexa stands before a red-brick two-story house, long enough the July heat has her sodden shirt clinging to her back, frizzy curls plastered to her temples in the humidity. The air is sticky and every breath she draws into her lungs is a fight.

 

She hasn’t been here in a little over three months. It’s only been thirty four days since Costia died, but it was another couple months before that. Lexa can’t even remember the exact details now. She thinks maybe they dropped by for a quick brunch on a busy Sunday afternoon. Their weekends were always busy, with little time to relax. How many times had Costia asked if they could just call in sick for work? How many times had she begged for a vacation? At the time Lexa always put it off. One day they could do that, but _right now_ she had to work. Grind, grind, grind, until one day they were in the right place to relax.

 

And now look.

 

She didn’t know ‘one day’ was an empty promise. She should have taken her chances when she had them.

 

It’s quiet save for a few chirping birds. The McIvers live in a calm little cul de sac just behind the local high school. Lexa probably should have made sure they were home before coming over. It’s a Monday afternoon and Shannon is off work, but Leo might still be at the university; Lexa probably should have texted first, but her phone was messing up again, which wasn’t a surprise considering how hard she’d thrown it at the wall weeks ago. It’s a little before two in the afternoon and Lexa came here specifically at that time to avoid any offers to join them for dinner. She doesn’t want to see the look on their faces when she picks at her food, too nauseated to eat. She doesn’t want to look at them and be in a place that makes her think of Costia any longer than she has to.

 

She takes a deep breath and is just about to walk down the drive when the door bangs open suddenly enough to startle her. Rojay comes barreling out, brown eyes blown wide with joy.

 

“Lexa!” he shouts, diving toward her with so much enthusiasm Lexa halts in surprise, only just managing to get her arms up in time to catch him when he dives off the porch.

 

She can’t help but laugh, and it feels strange crawling out of her throat. She almost thought she’d forgotten how to laugh.

 

“Hi,” she greets him, and for once she doesn’t have to force a smile as she looks down into his shining face.

 

“Guess what,” he says immediately, drawing back to hurry back up the steps, darting in and out before Lexa can so much as take another step. He comes bounding out with a basketball in his arms. “Got a new one! Wanna play?”

 

“Give her a minute,” calls Leo, who’s came to stand in the door. He gives Lexa a tired smile. “Hello, Lexa.”

 

“Hello,” Lexa manages. Costia always looked so much like her father— his eyes, his nose, his smile. It hurts to look at him.

 

“Did you have a good birthday?” he asks.

 

Lexa dips her head. “Yes. Thank you for the card and candle.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Then Costia’s mother steps out.

 

“Lexa,” she says, voice not as steady as it could be. She still puts on a brave face, walking down the steps to embrace Lexa. Lexa closes her eyes and sinks into it, Shannon’s perfume subtle and comforting, and for a moment, Lexa feels a rush of gratitude so strong it weakens her knees. She’s so lucky to have made the friends in life that she did. She and Shannon may have had a rocky start— Costia coming out to her religious parents during her first year of college wasn’t ever going to be smooth-sailing— but she grew and she changed and now over a decade later, Shannon is like a mother figure and Lexa loves her. She’s missed her.

 

Shannon draws back and gives her a watery smile. “Come in,” she says, voice a rasp like she’s afraid to do more than whisper. She wraps an arm around Lexa and ushers her inside, Leo following close behind and Rojay opting to stay outside to play, perhaps wanting to avoid the emotional reunion.

 

The moment Lexa steps through the door, she wonders if this is a mistake. It’s so difficult, being back in this place that had in so many ways became like a home to her. It smells warm and rich here, this salubrious mix of home cooked meals and the faintest traces of perfume and cologne. All the pictures on the wall...Costia’s face smiling out at her from all different ages. She pauses before one that’s always been one of her favorites, where Costia’s a gap-toothed child standing proudly over her tricycle, shoes untied and dirt on her knees.

 

Shannon and Leo walk on down the hallway to give her some space, and Lexa lingers there for a while, lost in her thoughts and twisting her hands together for lack of anything else to do with them, before Leo eventually pops his head in.

 

“You want anything to drink?”

 

“Sure,” says Lexa politely, continuing down the hallway until she emerges into the bright kitchen. Windows frame the walls where the kitchen table is nestled, and there’s a bouquet of fresh sunflowers in the vase that has Lexa’s throat immediately closing.

 

She clears it, turning to accept the glass of water Leo offers her anyway, murmuring her thanks before bringing it to her lips. Shannon seems to have slipped out, perhaps to compose herself. Leo sits at the table and pats the chair next to his so Lexa sits beside him, and the two of them sit in a companionable silence for a time, watching the hummingbirds flit around the feeder just outside the windows.

 

“You doing okay?” asks Leo after a moment. He doesn’t look at her when he says it. It must be because there’s nothing to say. Lexa understands the sentiment. She feels like she should ask him how he’s been getting on, how he’s doing, but she already knows the answer.

 

She shrugs, because he already knows the answer too.

 

Shannon joins them after a time, waffling about the kitchen for a while until the oven’s on and the sweet smell of baking cookies fills the air. Birds chirp and the distant sound of a basketball hitting the pavement breaks the silence of the kitchen, until Lexa can’t bear it any more.

 

She opens her mouth and that’s when Shannon speaks.

 

“We’ve been thinking about you.”

 

Lexa meets her gaze, finds her eyes glistening. Even Leo’s are. Lexa takes a shaky breath, her mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve been thinking about you too. How have…how have you been?”

 

“Well...we’ve been taking it easy. Shan took off work, and I did too. Professor Gaia— do you remember her? Indra and I used to share her as a TA— is taking over my classes for now. Ro is…” Leo exchanges a significant look with his wife. “Frankly, he’s been our rock. He doesn’t like to talk about his feelings and he puts on a happy face when he shouldn’t, but he’s been here for us. He’s taking good care of his mother.” Leo clears his throat, pride and sadness warring on his face. “We’re getting on. We’ve been...taking it one day at a time.”

 

“That’s all you can do,” says Lexa, Clarke’s words echoing in her head.

 

Leo dips his head in acknowledgement while Shannon sniffles and brings a napkin just beneath her eyes, blotting the tears away without smudging her mascara.

 

Silence swells between them and this time it’s uncomfortable. Lexa has no idea what to say.

 

“I’m making some cookies,” says Shannon. It’s unnecessary, they all know she’s baking cookies, but she seems to be at a loss as to what to say or do now.

 

“Sounds good,” Lexa manages to lie.

 

Leo clears his throat, tapping a knuckle on the table. “If Costia were here, she’d have a joke about the cookies. But it would probably be crummy.”

 

Lexa’s eyes widen, and so do Shannon’s. Leo just smiles back at them. And then—

 

They burst into laughter.

 

“She’d probably say that was a half baked dad joke too,” chuckles Leo, and they laugh even harder.

 

It broke the ice, and now Lexa can’t stop laughing. Costia _would_ make some ridiculous puns if she were here, because ridiculous puns were her favorite thing. She and Clarke used to drive Lexa insane with them (and eventually drive her to make some pretty lame ones of her own, not that she’ll ever admit to that). Lexa realizes with a sinking sense of horror that she won’t ever hear Costia make another lame pun again. Shannon and Leo seem to have realized the same thing, because one minute the three of them are laughing and the next they’re crying.

 

The cookies are set out to cool off and the kitchen table is littered with tissues. They can’t hear the sound of the basketball outside anymore, but Ro still hasn’t made an appearance.

 

“Lexa, honey, I’m so sorry we haven’t been here for you,” says Shannon, tears tracking through her makeup. Her painted lower lip trembles. “I know— I know we’ve been distant. It’s just been so hard.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” says Lexa softly, swallowing thickly. It doesn’t relieve her of the lump obstructing her throat. “I understand. Believe me.”

  
  
“There are no words,” says Leo gruffly, reaching out to clap a hand on Lexa’s shoulder and squeeze it bracingly. “You can come over any time.”

 

Shannon nods in agreement, squeezing Lexa’s hand atop the table. “This is just as much your home as it was Costia’s. You’re our daughter too.”

 

The words send fresh tears streaming down Lexa’s face, and she quickly scrubs at them. God, she hates it, hates showing vulnerability likes this. She never used to cry in front of people and now it seems to be all she does. She hates this, hates that Costia’s gone and nothing makes sense anymore, hates who she’s become and how it feels like nothing will ever feel normal again.

 

The door suddenly bangs open in the distance before slamming shut, and footsteps storm down the hall before Rojay bursts into the kitchen.

 

“Lexa! I just remembered!”

 

“Rojay!” scolds Shannon, glaring at him. “Boy, what have I told you about that? Don’t you slam the door! And slow down. Sounded like a herd of rhinos stomping through my hallway!”

 

“Actually, it’s called a crash of rhinos,” says Ro smugly. His smile turns sheepish when he notices his mother’s glare. “And sorry, Momma,” he says soberly. His gaze darts to Lexa and he changes attitude at light speed, leaping forward to pull her out of her chair.

 

“Lexa, I got something to show you!” He tugs at her wrist. “Come on, come on!”

 

He still finds time to reach over to grab a cookie and cram it into his mouth. Lexa exchanges an exasperated smile with Leo; Shannon just shakes her head, bemused. Ro drags Lexa out of the kitchen and up the stairs into his bedroom, leaving a trail of cookie crumbs behind them. When he slams open the door to his room, Lexa blinks at all the colors looking back at her.

 

“Isn’t it cool?” he crows, beaming as he gestures at the painting of some large, bizarre creature on his wall. It looks half bird and half horse. Lexa gapes at it. Despite its peculiarity, it’s beautifully painted. In fact, she recognizes the art style. It looks like—

 

“Clarke came over last week,” says Ro.

 

Panic spreads like ice in Lexa’s veins and nearly makes her squirm, but she maintains her outward composure, asking casually, “What for?”

 

“She just came to visit us. She had dinner with us and we were talking and...I was sad and I wanted to have some of Costia with me and I had this idea! I’ve been wanting to paint my room for ages anyway. Momma and Dad said I could, so we asked Clarke and she did it!” He grins, gap-toothed and happy. “She’s gonna come back to paint the castle for me next.”

 

“What is it?” asks Lexa, looking at the creature again.

 

“It’s Buckbeak, he’s a hippogriff! From Harry Potter,” he adds when Lexa just looks at him blankly. He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Geez, Lexa, I can’t believe Cos puts up with you not knowing Harry Potter. Super lame.”

 

 _Put up with._ Past tense, not present. Ro doesn’t seem to notice, nor does he notice the way Lexa’s gone pale and stiff. He just happily babbles on about his wall and how Clarke is going to add more things to it, until Shannon calls his name and tells him to come downstairs to clean up the mess he’d made. Lexa barely notices him exit.

 

She observes the wall for another minute, gaze lingering on the golden eyes, before she leaves. She doesn’t head for the stairs; instead, she slowly wanders down the hall, feet taking her to the bedroom at the end where the door is closed...

 

She turns the knob and pushes the door open and enters Costia’s childhood bedroom. It looks mostly untouched, perhaps with a thin layer of dust; she wonders if Shannon and Leo couldn’t bear to come in to clean. It’s the bedroom of a young girl, with various Disney posters and sparkly curtains and stuffed animals everywhere. There are porcelain dolls still in their boxes propped up on a shelf on the wall, and she knows there are barbies hidden in the dollhouse tucked in the corner. The entire room gives Lexa the strangest sense of longing and her thoughts drift to the baby and— and Lexa resolutely pushes those thoughts away before they can steer her in a direction she can’t bear going.

 

Lexa stands in the center of the room. She swears she can _smell_ Costia, can hear the echoes of her laughter, can feel her in here, standing beside her. Her eyes flutter shut as she lets it seep over her, heavy and as upsetting as it is comforting. When she opens her eyes, they focus on the tiny twin-sized bed pushed against the wall. Neatly made, with a pink and yellow quilt blanket with tiny flower patchwork. There’s a stuffed animal sitting up at the head of the bed, leaning against the pillow. Lexa recognizes it at once, but it’s been years since she saw it, let alone since she’s been up here in this room. She crosses the room and eases down on the edge of the bed, gingerly picking up the toy.

 

It’s a plush elephant with visible signs of a couple decades’ worth of love. It has that worn look of a child’s cherished toy, well-taken care of but with the expected wear and tear. There are a few small stains on fur that’s not as smooth as it should be thanks to turns in the washer, and scratches on the eyes. But it’s still impossibly soft and cuddly. Lexa stares at it, imagining a young Costia waddling around with it clutched in her chunky arms. Imagines Costia’s cremation bench, strewn flowers around it. She holds the elephant more tightly in her shaking hands, the air she sucks into her lungs shaky and unsteady. She holds it and holds it and holds it. Costia will never hold it again.

 

This is it, this is when it finally sinks in.  It’s been an entire month since Costia’s death but this is the singular moment where it actually feels real, where the wall of shock crumbles down and reality slips in like an icy knife. Costia is dead. She’s gone, forever, really and truly gone. Lexa will never again wake up in her arms. She’ll never be able to fix things or make them better. She’ll never kiss her again, never hold her hand. Lexa is going to grow up without her; she’s going to turn thirty without her, she’s possibly going to grow old and Costia won’t be there beside her, lamenting at discovered gray hairs, complaining of back aches. She’ll never see her smile in anything but old photographs now. Costia is gone.

 

She’s not aware she’s crying until she watches a glistening tear drop roll down her nose and fall as if in slow motion, splattering onto the soft worn fabric of the elephant, landing right beneath a dark plastic eye. Then it all seems to come at once, and they fall down her face like rain, her lungs spluttering as choked sobs claw their way up her throat. She clutches the toy in both hands, watching her tears soak the fabric until her vision is so blurry she can’t see anything at all, and then she brings it close. She clutches the damp, tattered elephant to her heart, holding it tightly, weeping for everything Costia lost, for everything Lexa and those who loved Costia lost, and for what they will go on to have without her.

 

Some amount of time later— Lexa is not sure how much— the floorboards outside the room creak and there’s a tentative knock on the door. “Lexa?” comes a soft voice. “Oh, Lexa.”

 

The bed dips as Shannon’s weight descends on it. When she slips an arm around Lexa’s shoulders, they’re still shaking with the force of her sobs.

 

“Oh, baby, come here.”

 

Lexa burrows against a soft chest that smells of perfume and warm spices. Her tears are ruining Shannon’s shirt, but she doesn’t seem to care, just clucking her tongue and holding Lexa tightly, stroking a hand through her hair.

 

“I miss her too,” says Shannon, voice thick with unshed tears. “I miss her so much, baby. Every day I wake up and check my phone waiting to see ‘good morning momma,’ but it never come. I’ll be at the store grabbing groceries and I...I realize I need to take the cinnamon Pop-Tarts out the cart because she’s the only one who eats them. I got a stack of them just sitting in my cupboard and I can’t throw them out.”

 

A strangled whimper escapes Lexa before she can stop it and she closes her eyes and burrows her face in more at the fact that there’s an opened box in her own kitchen that will forever go unfinished because Lexa won’t eat them either.

 

“I know I should probably clean out this room,” continues Shannon, looking around at it, “But I can’t bring myself to do it. I just can’t.”

 

“I can’t either,” whispers Lexa, voice hoarse from the force of her sobs. “Her stuff is...is everywhere. There’s...dirty laundry on the bedroom floor, her phone charger is still plugged in. Her bottle of Pepsi is still in my car.”

 

“Oh, Lexa,” Shannon sighs again, squeezing her in a hug that has warmth seeping through to Lexa’s bones. She draws back to look at her, sorrow in her dark eyes. “It’s not very healthy of us, is it?” She sniffles and looks around again, taking in a deep, trembling breath. “Tell you what. Maybe we can work through it together? Piece by piece, maybe.”

 

Lexa follows her gaze, taking in everything that once belonged to Costia. The pink and yellow bedding, the sparkling curtains, the white dresser sparsely decorated with clumsily-applied faded butterfly stickers, the cute baby animal suncatchers hanging over the window. This room could be used again. This could be _the baby’s room._ Her stomach lurches and she pushes through it, looks up to meet Shannon’s gaze and instead finds her examining the stuffed elephant Lexa is still clutching.

 

“That was her favorite toy,” says Shannon softly, reaching out to take it from Lexa, who feels as though she has to peel her fingers back to loosen her grip on it. New tears roll down Shannon’s cheeks as she strokes the damp fabric. “She picked it out from a Cato store. They used to have these set up on display over the shoes,” she shakes her head in amusement, “I don’t know why. They were overpriced. One day we went in there shopping. Cos was probably...oh, six years old or so. Not long before her seventh birthday. She took one look at this and she decided she wanted it. Threw herself a temper tantrum right there in the store, stomping her feet, crying. Ohh did she get in trouble.” She chuckles at the memory. “We told her no and that maybe if she was a good girl she would get it for her birthday. She didn’t know, but her daddy went right back into that store after we left and bought it. We kept it hidden and on her birthday, we jammed it into a mason jar. You should have seen her face opening presents. We saved the mason jar for last. She was so sad, she still wanted that elephant and thought she never got it...unwrapped the mason jar and when she realized what was in it…” Shannon’s smile stretches wide, her eyes shining. “She was ecstatic. She slept with this thing every night after.”

 

“Even at college,” muses Lexa. She can’t help but smile herself. “The first time I went to her room, I saw it sitting there on her bed. We joked about it. She said it—”

 

“Kept the shadows away,” says Shannon with a watery smile. She nods. “We told her that since she was was little. She was so scared there were—”

 

“Monsters in the closet,” finishes Lexa. They both chuckle.

 

“I still laugh at what she named this thing. She tried to call it Squishy but it came out as Sushi.” They both laugh softly at the innocent ridiculousness of it, looking down at Sushi the elephant. “It’s so funny. She doesn’t even like sushi.”

 

Lexa nods, lips curved. She forces herself to breathe as her smile fades away, as she goes back to the entire reason she came over here to visit in the first place. She’s supposed to tell them. She’s supposed to admit that she’s giving up before she’s even tried, that she’s having a baby and she wants them to raise it because she can’t bear to.

 

Her eyes dart up to look at Shannon, who is still looking around the room with this tired smile, and then back down again at the elephant slumped over across their laps. Doubt and vacillation amalgamates inside Lexa, suffocating and terrifying. She glances at Shannon’s watch. It’s three o’clock.

 

This is it.

 

Lexa has to make a decision.

 

She clutches the elephant tighter, sits up straighter, and turns to Shannon.

 

“I have to tell you something.”

 

\\\

 

Clarke hates waiting rooms.

  
Her foot jiggles in time with the clock on the wall. She resists the urge to glance up at it again for what would probably be the five thousandth time in the last fifteen minutes. Unease wriggles in her gut and her fingers twitch for her phone, but it’s on six percent and she doesn’t want to risk it dying. They’ll be taking her back for her appointment any moment; she weighs the options of hiding out in the bathroom for a few minutes to prolong it. It’s not that she’s nervous— not exactly, not any more than she normally would be considering her distaste for healthcare environments in the first place. It’s just that the ultrasound is in five minutes and Lexa is _late._

 

For possibly the first time in her entire life. That’s why Clarke’s a bit worked up about it; Lexa is late and she hasn’t called or even sent a text. Is she stuck in traffic? They agreed to meet here at two forty-five, and that was over ten minutes ago. That’s not like Lexa. Lexa’s always early. Out of all of her friends, Lexa is the one who’s considers being on time to being late. It was handy when they became friends because Clarke was always ensured her seat in Business Law was saved when Lexa was the first to arrive for class; it wasn’t so handy when any of them arrived late to a gathering and were forced to endure Lexa’s Disappointed Stare. Clarke had bought Lexa many a drink to butter her up in order to avoid that sole glare.

 

But Lexa’s late, and she said she’d be here but she isn’t, and as the clock ticks away Clarke realizes with a sinking heart that if Lexa is late...she’s probably not planning on coming at all.

 

Her eyes sting but there’s no time to indulge in the despair aching in her chest. A nurse opens the door and calls her name, and it’s time.

 

Clarke is torn between anguish and excitement as the appointment proceeds. Jackson senses she’s upset and seems concerned and Clarke wishes she’d changed her mind and allowed her mother to come with her anyway, if only to avoid the inevitable disquieted phone call from her after Jackson contacts her. But she thought Lexa would be here and didn’t want anyone intruding on Lexa’s experience.

 

Later, when Clarke is lying there holding the ultrasound wand herself and watching the waves create an image onscreen, the world falls away. She stares at the little blip, unaware she’s holding her breath, and keeps staring until it turns to diamonds from the tears in her eyes. Jackson and the nurses exit the room to give her some time alone.

 

She’s known she was pregnant, but it’s different, seeing the proof of it before her eyes. This is a baby. She’s carrying her friends’ baby. A little piece of them is inside her, she is responsible for nurturing it, bringing it to life. It’s...incredible, and overwhelming, and she’s so happy she did this, even if neither of them were here to see it. Costia passed away and she took a portion of Lexa with her. But this...this is still here. This baby, whether it biologically belongs to Costia or to Lexa, is a product of both of their love, it’s their baby, and Clarke is the one holding this metaphorical flame in her hands, protecting it, caring for it, breathing life into it. She is so honored...and so, so sad.

 

She tips her head back against the bed, face screwed up against the onslaught of tears. She’s not angry. She’s just devastated, and for the first time she feels so alone, which doesn’t really make sense since she’s not alone, she won’t be alone for the next eight months. Costia is gone and Lexa hasn’t showed but this baby is here. Clarke is here. And she’ll be here if Lexa ever comes around.

 

She tries to think about Shannon and Leo’s joy. She wonders if Lexa has told them yet that the IVF was successful and that Clarke is pregnant, and that they’ll be raising their grandchild. She tries to think about it but all she can think about is their devastation. They lost their only daughter and their grandchild will have to grow up never knowing its mother...and perhaps its other mother as well. Clarke has no idea what this means.

 

The nurses and Jackson return and clean her up, give her instructions and let her go. The moment Clarke is in her car, she’s calling her mother. She feels numb, but not so much that she can’t marvel for a moment on how their relationship has evolved to this, the kind where she can seek her mother for comfort. It wasn’t so long ago her mom was begging her to call her more often, and now look at them. Abby answers with excitement that quickly gives way to serious concern when Clarke’s shaky voice cracks and she breaks down right there in the parking lot. She remains there for a while, crying amid her mother’s hushed shock and desperate attempts to console her, before Abby convinces her to drive up to the hospital where she works to see her in person.

 

She cries into Abby’s shoulder for a good hour there in the call room. After a few failed attempts to get her to share her feelings, Abby just falls into silence, stroking Clarke’s hair and pressing firm kisses to her temple. Clarke doesn’t know how to talk, doesn’t know how to explain the tangled knot of emotions churning in her stomach. It’s not all bad; she’s heartbroken at the situation, yes, but she’s also so happy and so touched that this little one is alive inside her, and she’s giving Costia one of her biggest dreams.

 

They leave together once Abby’s shift ends. Clarke heads home while Abby diverts to go home first to change and grab dinner, so Clarke arrives home first and alone, carting her paperwork into her house. Her house is always empty and quiet, but right now the silence is overwhelming.  For once she doesn’t want to be alone. Maybe she can go visit a friend, Raven or O, even though all she keeps thinking of is Lexa, but if Lexa hasn’t reached out then Clarke isn’t going to ambush her, she’ll give her friend her space.

 

Before she can go change, she’s distracted by a phone call from Wells. They end up speaking for a couple hours, Clarke divulging everything so he’s up to speed. Her oldest friend is concerned but supportive, as always, and manages to make her laugh. She’s just finishing up their call when Abby arrives bearing dinner, hands laden with sacks of take-out, and the sight alone is enough to have Clarke’s eyes stinging; it reminds her of the months after her father’s death, when Abby brought home takeout almost every day because Jake was always the one who cooked. They eat in the living room, Clarke curled up on the couch in socked feet, picking at her shrimp fried rice. She feels like she’s run out of tears to cry by this point, but talking about it with her mom, discussing the fact that Lexa doesn’t want to be involved...it brings a fresh wave of pain.

 

Her mother doesn’t leave until after ten, and only after Clarke has promised to call her tomorrow after contacting Lexa and reaching out to the McIvers. It's only then she notices Lexa had text her earlier, looks like during her phone call with Wells- a _"Please let me know when you are home"_ that Clarke ignores, telling herself she'll answer it tomorrow when she feels more emotionally prepared. Alone in her empty house once more, Clarke decides to throw in the towel and go to bed, even though she’s certain she won’t be falling asleep any time soon. She trudges upstairs and into her bedroom and straight into her closet to pick out a t-shirt to sleep in. She’s in the process of shucking off her pants when she notices the unfamiliar object on her bed. Brow furrowing, she moves over to it.

 

It’s a stuffed elephant, weathered and lumpy, and familiar… Clarke blinks at it, uncomprehending. Why is Costia’s childhood toy here? Clarke reaches out for it, fingers sinking into fabric that feels damp for some reason, and when she picks it up, a folded up scrap of paper falls onto the bed.

 

Holding the elephant tucked under her arm against her stomach, Clarke picks up the paper and unfolds it, her heart picking up pace when she recognizes the elegant scrawl.

 

_Let’s have an adventure._

_-L_


	5. In the Shadow of your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout again to all my friends (and my amazing wife, whose cute little comments on this fic always make me smile <3) for reading this and basically putting up with me just talking to myself by spamming you with messages and using you as my sounding board, haha. 
> 
> And a huge thank you to all the readers of this, thank you SO much for all your comments. I am not exaggerating when I say they help me write this. Sometimes motivation dwindles but the right comment will just throw me right back into the game. Thank you so much. 
> 
> I also really appreciate you guys for trusting me on this damn journey. This fic brings about so many questions, and that's what makes it so enthralling to write. "Can they do this? Can they find love again while grieving? What makes love true? How will they know if it's real or simply them seeking comfort while mourning? How soon is too soon?" are all questions that will be explored and answered in this fic, and are all questions that you reading and the characters themselves will ask themselves over and over again throughout this story. They all mix up into one solid question that I suppose I'm doing that writer thing with- something deep down already knows it, and I'm just trying to find it to give it a bit of light and clarity. Hopefully it works, and is satisfying for us all. I do try to leave many little breadcrumb types of hints in regards to the characterization, their histories, their futures- I love reading how some of you guys pick up on them!
> 
> With that said, I hope you like this chapter and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

 

> _The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out_
> 
> _You left me in the dark_
> 
> _No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight_
> 
> _In the shadow of your heart_
> 
> _-Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine_ [ _x_  
>    
>  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EIeUlvHAiM)

* * *

 

After leaving Shannon’s, Lexa runs home.

 

She imagines she must paint quite the picture— soaked in sweat in this heat, eyes puffy and cheeks tear-streaked, sprinting in sandals down the street all while carrying a stuffed elephant. She passes Mrs Yo on the way, lobbying a returned greeting to her as she thunders up the stairs, unlocks and bursts into her apartment. She spots her car keys on the counter and doesn’t hesitate, even though it’s been a month since she’s driven it. She seizes the keys and is out the door again in a flash. Mrs Yo flattens herself to the wall as Lexa bounds past her, bewildered but still offering a goodbye when Lexa throws one over her shoulder as she flies past.

 

Her heart pounds as she slips into the vehicle; she hasn’t driven her car since...but there’s no time to freak out right now. Her car is unbearably hot after sitting in the sun all day. The leather of the seats burn Lexa’s thighs but she pays it no mind, peeling out of the parking lot fast enough it has her tires squealing. She slows down to a reasonable speed on the highway but she still arrives at the doctor’s in half the time it would normally take. She has no time to be conscious over her appearance when she leaps out and flies to the building.

 

The quiet, calm atmosphere is a jarring contrast to the chaos Lexa hurls inside with her. She stands there in the doorway, chest heaving, dripping with sweat, and her heart sinks as she looks around and realizes Clarke is not there.

 

“Excuse me,” she puffs, struggling to lower her breathless voice as she addresses the receptionist, “Is Clarke Griffin still here?”

 

The receptionist adjusts her glasses, peering at Lexa through thick lenses. “I’m not allowed to just give out that information, ma’am. What is your relation to her?”

 

“She’s— she’s carrying my baby.” The words bring a flush of warmth to Lexa’s chest— and to her cheeks.

 

The receptionist blinks, and her cheeks seem to tint too as she flusters. “Oh, well. Let me just check for you— “

 

“She’s not here,” interrupts the man who just walked through the door behind the reception area. He has kind, tired eyes, which tells Lexa he puts in long hours but the fact that he loves his job makes up for it. Jackson, she remembers Costia and Clarke telling her. Someone Abby recommended.  He seems to recognize Lexa, though she’s certain they never met. Costia had gone with Clarke to meet him; Lexa had been at work. “Her appointment finished about ten minutes ago, so she’s probably home by now.”

 

Lexa’s stomach lurches as though she’s missed a step going down the stairs. She’s barely uttered a thanks before she’s out the door again. Guilt and shame churns in her. She missed it, she missed the first ultrasound. Now what? She hurdles out of the building and back into her car. She knows there’s things she needs to do there; sign some papers, speak to Jackson. She can do that later. Right now, she absolutely has to find Clarke.

 

The drive to Clarke’s house is even shorter. It seems to tower over Lexa as she pulls into the drive. Clarke’s car is...nowhere in sight. Knocking on the door and only being met with silence confirms her absence. Lexa turns, pressing her back to the door and sliding down to sit slumped up against it. She sets the elephant down beside her if only because the tear-soaked fabric is uncomfortably sticky in her sweaty palm. Nothing left to do but wait, she supposes. Perhaps Clarke stopped to get food, or gas, or something.

 

Lexa resigns herself to wait, picking at her nails. As she waits, her mind runs with the possibilities. Clarke had her ultrasound. Lexa wishes she’d at least stuck around to ask Jackson how it went; a glance at her watch tells her they’re closed now, so no chance of that. Is the baby okay? Is Clarke feeling okay? Is she devastated Lexa missed the appointment? Is she furious? Lexa pulls her phone out to call Clarke before remembering it hasn’t been working properly for a few days now, finally exhausted from its meeting with the wall weeks ago. She can’t even call her.

 

Where is she? Lexa wets her lips and tries to ignore the unpleasant twisting of her stomach, closing her eyes as if it will stop the flood of images pushing to the forefront, each more unlikely than the next. Clarke hates her. Something’s wrong with the baby. Something happened. Car wreck? Complications with the pregnancy? Is Clarke _okay?_ Is the _baby_ okay? _Where are they?_

 

_Stop it._

 

Her eyes burn and leak and she can’t help the way she hunches over, clutching Sushi and crying again. Anxiety, she tells herself. Can’t let herself fall into that, can’t get trapped in that way of thinking. Clarke is fine, she probably just stopped somewhere, met her mother somewhere in town for an early dinner. They’re probably both wondering about Lexa not showing...Lexa swallows down the guilt. Eventually the tears fade, and she just concentrates on her breathing.

 

Soon one hour slips into two, and while the weather has cooled considerably, the mosquitoes are now out in full force. Lexa slaps at them, glancing at her watch again. It’s half past five. The store closes at six. Maybe she should go get her phone fixed and try ringing Clarke again.

 

But what if Clarke gets home before then? Perhaps Lexa could leave a note for her. She eyes the stuffed elephant. At the time, she’d envisioned herself arriving at the ultrasound and giving it to Clarke then and there. It’s for the baby, yes- she wants this to be its first friend, the toy that rests in the crib with it. But it’s also a gesture for Clarke- _I’m in, I’m all in._ The idea is a bit more nerve-wracking now that Lexa’s not pumped full of adrenaline chasing her down. She’s nervous.  Nervous to face Clarke after everything. Clarke has seen her at her weakest, Clarke has had to take care of her, has been let down by her. Lexa can’t bear seeing blue eyes shaded with disappointment in _her_. But equally terrifying is the prospect of an elated Clarke, because what if Lexa lets her down again? So much emotion period, either way, has Lexa feeling paralyzed. But she can’t be like that. She can’t be a coward. Not when it involves her friend and her child.

 

She resolves for a grand gesture for now. She returns to her car and fishes a set of keys out of the console; Clarke had given Costia a spare key years ago. It used to drive her crazy how Costia always forgot her key ring in the car, but now she’s grateful for it, particularly since if Costia had left them in her own car, they would have been lost or destroyed in the… she swallows hard and shakes her head, dragging her mind away from that direction. She grabs a scrap of paper a spare pen. Then she unlocks the door and lets herself in.

 

She hasn’t been to Clarke’s house in months. She thinks the last time was possibly Christmas, when she and Costia came over to exchange presents with Clarke after leaving Costia’s parents. It’s still and silent now, save for the creaking of the steps as Lexa ascends the stairs, one hand clutching Sushi and the other gliding over the banister rail. Lexa has always admired this home. It’s beautiful, and every part of it seems to scream Clarke, from the crisp linen scent permeating the air to the charcoal drawings hanging on the walls to the photographs of various friends propped up on the shelves and tables. There’s sculpted pottery on the foyer table that Costia made for Clarke when they were in college— jade green celadon with several gold cracks streaking around it like electricity. Seeing it brings the memories back, and Lexa can hear Costia’s voice so clearly it’s almost as if she’s right beside her.

 

_“See? What’d I tell ya.” Dimples flash as Costia smiles, looking up and wiping her forehead with her forearm. She turns the vase around for Lexa to see her work, and grins at her. “It’s even cooler now, right?”_

 

_Lexa observes it with an arched brow. “Why go to all that trouble to glue it together when you could have just made her a new one?”_

 

_“Lexa!” Amused and exasperated, Costia shakes her head and turns the vase to cast a critical eye over it, leaning down to examine one of the cracks, running a thumb over it. “This adds to the history of it. It’s even more special now.”_

 

_“But you can see where you broke it.”_

 

_“So?” Costia shrugs and casts her another smile, so sweet that Lexa can’t help but return it, peering at her over the top of her book. “It’s unique. There’s not a single other vase in the world exactly like this. The fact that it broke makes it even more precious. It’s called Kintsugi. Remember? I told you about it before.”_

 

_“I remember now.”_

 

 _“Yeah. This is it. I used a lacquer dusted with powdered gold, Professor Wallace gave it to me.” She exhales a happy breath, admiring the vase. “I think it’s something everyone could learn from. It’s the very_ _essence of resilience. some things break, but they can be put back together again, stronger and more beautiful because of it. Wabi sabi! Man, I just love it. Hey, let’s go to Japan as soon as we can!”_

 

_Lexa looks up with a lopsided smile. “I thought we were saving up for Ireland.”_

 

_“Afterwards, then. Ireland, Botswana, Japan. Top three destinations.”_

 

_“And Harry Potter world,” Lexa reminds her._

 

_Costia groans. “Let’s just quit school and become nomads.”_

 

_“I wish.”_

 

_“Well, after we graduate and work a while and have the money..." Costia trails off suggestively, looking up at Lexa with her hands on the vase and her brows raised, dark eyes shining with hope. "Let’s take a trip and go, yeah?"_

 

_Lexa smiles, long fingers flipping to the next page of her book. “One day,” she promises._

 

They never went. Lexa drags her gaze away from the vase and stares ahead without really seeing, gripping the stairway railing tightly enough her knuckles shine white. Despite how many years they were together, and having saved up plenty of money to do it...they never did, always too busy with work and life. They never went. The most they’d done was finally book tickets to Florida to attend Harry Potter world, but Costia died before they managed to go. And now...now she would never go.

 

Fuck, she’s crying again. Clarke could come home and find her sobbing on her staircase holding a toy and she’d probably think she’d lost her mind. Come on. _Get it together._

 

Lexa hopes this isn’t overstepping, as she enters Clarke’s bedroom. She knows it wouldn’t be for Costia, but she and Clarke don’t have the same level of friendship as they did. Still, Lexa quickly jots down a message on the paper, her heart swelling as she folds it and carefully sets the elephant down on the bed where she knows Clarke will see it, tucking the note under its arm. She steps back and observes it for a moment. She knows in her heart that this is the right way. Hopefully she has her phone fixed by the time Clarke sees this; either way she knows she better hurry so she’s home in case Clarke stops by to find her. She locks the door behind her.

 

\\\

 

It ends up being cheaper to just buy a new phone altogether, considering her contract is up and she’s due a new one anyway. Of course, it doesn’t immediately work for her— even though she watched the rep set it up for her— so she’s back in there waiting around for even longer. By the time she goes home, it’s near seven.

 

She types and retypes a hundred different texts. There’s too much to say and none of it should be said over the phone, as tempting as it is to avoid an emotional face to face conversation. She owes it to Clarke. The elephant was just a gesture that she’s in, but they’re still going to have to talk about all of this.

 

Finally Lexa just decides on asking her to please let her know when she’s home, that way Lexa can ask if she could come over. She hits send and the quiet whoosh of the message sending does little to relieve her of the nerves buzzing in her veins. She forces herself to eat a sandwich and drink a bottle of water, and finally takes a shower to wash off the sweat, phone on the bathroom counter just in case Clarke texts or calls, keeping her ears open under the heavy spray for any sound. It never rings, and Lexa’s nerves only grow as the night goes on. She’s glued to her phone all evening, anxiously awaiting Clarke’s response.

 

She’s almost surprised when she begins growing tired around nine o’clock, but she supposes it shouldn’t be a shock. The emotional breakdown she’d had today would be exhausting to anyone. For weeks now she’d been running on very little sleep and sustenance, and then she’d finally accepted the death of her wife and sobbed that knowledge into her mother in law’s embrace. As painful as that realization was, it was a step forward, too. She has a baby on the way. Lexa has to start taking better care of herself now. She curls up in bed, wet curls spread out on the pillow behind her, her phone resting on the mattress just before her, volume turned up all the way. There’s nothing left to do now but wait.

 

//

 

The alert on her phone rouses Lexa out of the doze she’d been in. She stirs, rolling over in bed and blinking sleepy eyes at her phone. What she sees cuts through the fog and clears up any lingering exhaustion immediately.

 

_Clarke: Can I see you?_

 

It’s almost eleven at night but Clarke is texting her now. Lexa wonders what’s taken her so long. Her thumbs fly over her phone screen.

 

_Lexa: yes._

 

A pause, three dots signaling Clarke is typing.

 

_Clarke: you sure? It’s late_

 

 _Lexa:  Clarke.  
_ _Come over._

 

_Clarke: ok. be there soon!_

 

Lexa gets out of bed, body thrumming with nervous energy. She runs a hand through her hair and empties her bladder and brushes her teeth again and sips at a bottle of water and paces in her living room until finally, Clarke is knocking on her door.

 

When Lexa pulls it open, she catches a glimpse of blonde before Clarke launches at her, arms flinging around Lexa’s neck. After a moment’s shock, Lexa relaxes into it, wrapping her own arms around Clarke’s waist and squeezing her back, closing her eyes and turning her face into soft blonde waves that smell so refreshing the only thing Lexa can relate it to is the time she stood atop the peak of Mount Polis, and the first drag of air into her lungs was like daylight breaking open her ribcage. _How can you smell like the sky?_

Clarke is impossibly soft and warm and Lexa melts into her embrace with a desperation she doesn’t have the strength to hide, heart thudding so violently she wonders if Clarke can feel it shaking her whole body. It’s just been _so long_ since she’s held someone like this, without an itching at the back of her skull that propels her to push away as soon as possible. Rather than that, she burrows in deeper, lurching toward the warmth and comfort.

 

The guilt that follows the relief is suffocating, cramming its way up her throat until it escapes with a quiet hiss of breath that comes out as “I’m _sorry.”_

 

Clarke doesn’t answer for a long time; she’s clutching Lexa just as tightly as she holds her. When she does speak, her voice is quiet and muffled in Lexa’s shoulder; the warm vibration near her neck sends shivers down Lexa’s spine she struggles to suppress. She’s just not used to human contact. She’s touch-starved. She resolutely ignores the heated press of tears welling behind her eyes.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Of course that’s the first thing she asks. Not where Lexa was, or why wasn’t there.

 

Suddenly Lexa is desperate to _see_ her, to look into her eyes and reassure herself that Clarke is really here, that she really exists; she draws back while she keeps her arms around her and Clarke blinks up at her. She’s wearing an overlarge sleep shirt, wrinkled and half tucked into a pair of soft-worn sweatpants. She looks _tired,_ shoulders sagging and shadows under her eyes. Her nose and cheeks are red and her eyes are puffy and so _blue_. Lexa is no stranger to how blue they are, but right now they’re such a brilliant hue and Lexa realizes with an unpleasant fluttering in her stomach that it’s because Clarke has been crying, and is on the brink of doing so again. Lexa tenses, her hands twitching with the fervent desire to reach up, tuck a wild strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear before cupping Clarke’s face and looking deep into her eyes to tell her that Lexa is _here,_ she’s here for her, and she’s so sorry that she wasn’t before.

 

She doesn’t. She drops her arms and so does Clarke, and they both take a step back to invite space between them.

 

“I’m okay,” says Lexa gently, looking raptly at Clarke, “are _you?”_

 

“I’m okay,” echoes Clarke softly. It brings a wave of relief through Lexa, but it doesn’t last long.

 

“What about,” begins Lexa, voice shaking, “Was there— how did— what happened at the ultrasound?”

 

“The baby’s...it looks good.” Even despite the nervous tremor to her voice, Clarke’s lips twitch, something like elation flashing in her eyes. “I’m only five weeks along so there’s not much to see, but. Everything looked good.”

 

Lexa can do little more than nod, swallowing against her dry throat. Relief spreads warmth inside her but at the same time she can’t help but stiffen because this is all new. She knows, cerebrally, that Clarke is pregnant. But now she has the proof before her. This is _real._ Her baby is alive and it’s inside Clarke and despite how amazing that is...it’s also new and a little weird. But still, even with the dread and panic twisting inside her, a sprig of something that feels an awful lot like hope appears in the midst of it all.

 

“Do you want to sit down?” asks Lexa suddenly, realizing they’re both just standing in the doorway. Clarke blinks as if only just realizing the same thing, and nods.

 

Lexa closes the door and trails behind as Clarke sits down on the couch. “Do you want anything? Some water?”

 

“Sure. Thanks.”

 

Lexa goes to get it for her, mind racing in the lull of silence they’ve found themselves in. When she turns back from the fridge Clarke’s eyes dart away from her. Lexa swallows and hands Clarke the bottled water, forcing a smile when Clarke thanks her.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she questions, easing down beside her on the couch.

 

“I’m fine,” says Clarke after she takes a swig of water. “It’s just...you know. It’s been a stressful day.”

 

“I’m sorry,” says Lexa solemnly. “I should have been there for you. I tried- I tried to make it, but by the time I arrived Jackson said you’d already left.”

 

Clarke gives Lexa a sad smile. “I thought maybe you just couldn’t do it.”

 

“I couldn’t, at first,” says Lexa honestly. “By the time I decided I could, it was just too late. I thought maybe you’d went home so I went to your house but you weren’t there either.”

 

“I went to see my mom,"

 

“I figured maybe you were with her somewhere. I waited around for a few hours and then decided I could go get my phone fixed so I could at least contact you. I used Cos— Costia’s spare key to your house and put the elephant where I knew you’d see it. I hope that was okay.”

 

“More than,” breathes Clarke, setting the bottled water down on the table and reaching out, both hands going to Lexa’s shoulders as though she’s going to hug her again. There’s a flicker of a smile in her eyes as she holds Lexa’s gaze. “I was so upset, and seeing that, it— it gave me—"

 

 _Hope._ She doesn’t say it, but Lexa can read it in her face. It puts a lump in Lexa’s throat because she understands; it had the same effect on her. After a second Clarke’s expression shifts, lines of anxiety falling back again.

 

“Lexa,” says Clarke tentatively, a shaky hand brushing over the back of Lexa’s head, down the length of her hair before Clarke grips her shoulder and meets her gaze. Lexa’s heart lodges itself in her throat. “I just—I need to know. I know you’re heartbroken and—and you’re…I’m…I need to know for _sure_.”

“What do you mean?” croaks Lexa, blinking at her.

“Are we definitely doing this?” she says carefully. “Do you still—do you still want to do this? Without her?”

Without her. Without Costia. Lexa hesitates; this is the final out, she knows, her last chance to say no. She never imagined doing this, let alone without Costia. But she had made up her mind, even before she put that stuffed elephant on Clarke’s bed.

“I’m not going to lie to you. Am I a hundred percent positive that I’m ready for this? Not at all,” says Lexa, shaking her head, so full of conviction it takes Clarke aback. She looks at her with her brows raised. “But I do _want_ this,” says Lexa again, voice firm. “For no other reason than to love this baby.” She can’t put it to words, everything she’s feeling, the turbulent swirl of emotions, of grief and relief, dread and hope, that swirls within her, but she can at least say this. “I want this. Yes.”

“Okay. Okay.” Clarke nods several times. “Okay. So…so we’re doing this. Okay.” She takes a breath and focuses her gaze on Lexa, clearing her throat. “Look, I know you’re…if you can’t…” Clarke trails off, brow furrowing deeper, looking more conflicted than Lexa has possibly ever seen her. “Are you _sure?”_ asks Clarke in a hushed voice, looking intently at Lexa with eyes filled with unshed tears. “Are you— are you really, _really_ sure?”

 

“I’m sure, Clarke,” says Lexa softly. “I’m...still terrified by the idea of doing this alone, I won’t lie to you. But...I want this. I want to do this. I’m all in.”

 

Her brows shoot up in alarm when Clarke suddenly stifles a sob, tears spilling over and racing down her face. Lexa automatically lifts a hand up to Clarke’s face but then pauses, uncertain of how to console her. “Hey, don’t cry.”

 

If anything, the words just seem to make Clarke cry harder. Lexa scoots over on the couch cushion to sit directly beside her, slipping a comforting arm around her. She grabs the box of tissues off the table and sets it in Clarke’s lap, offering one to her. Clarke takes it but only clenches it in a shaky fist as she cries in stuttered gasps, Lexa rubbing soothing circles into her lower back until her breathing slows and steadies.

 

“Sorry,” manages Clarke several minutes later, voice hoarse and stuffy. Her eyes are red and puffy and Lexa aches with sorrow. “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” says Lexa, smiling wryly when Clarke looks at up at her for echoing her words. “Seriously.”

 

Clarke holds her gaze, unnaturally bright blue eyes flicking between each of Lexa’s as though to ensure she’s being truthful. Finally, she relaxes with a nod, and suddenly seems to sink in on herself, eyes growing heavy.

 

“Good.” She exhales slowly, using another tissue and wadding it up to set it with the pile of other used ones on her other side. “That’s...that’s good. I’m so glad…”

 

“Clarke?” prompts Lexa, when Clarke closes her eyes and doesn’t speak for a moment.

 

Clarke’s eyes fly open, but almost as soon as they do they’re already at half-mast again. “Sorry, I’m...it’s just late, and…”

 

“Come on,” murmurs Lexa, rising to her feet and extending a hand for Clarke’s. Clarke definitely must be exhausted because she takes it without argument, letting Lexa pull her to her feet and lead her out of the living room.

 

“I haven’t really been sleeping lately,” confesses Clarke, eyes struggling to stay open for longer than a second. Her shoulders sag and her feet drag across the floor as Lexa guides her down the hall.

 

“Sorry,” whispers Lexa, nudging open her bedroom door with a foot before leading Clarke inside.

 

“Not your fault,” mumbles Clarke, letting Lexa nudge her into her bed and help her remove her boots to place them neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. Clarke slips under the covers, eyes already fluttering shut. “Well…’sides the fact that...you got me pregnant, anyway…”

 

Lexa barely manages to stop the snort of amusement from escaping, a blush creeping up the back of her neck to the tip of her ears.

 

“Do you regret that?” she asks hesitatingly.

 

“No!” bursts Clarke, eyes opening for a moment to look at Lexa in almost offended shock. They slip shut a half second later. “No, definitely not… this is...this is a good thing. Life changing. It’s what….it’s what she wanted.” Lexa swallows at the lump in her throat, ignoring it in favor of tucking the blankets up beneath Clarke’s chin.

 

“Go to sleep,” whispers Lexa, fingers brushing a soft blonde tendril of hair as she withdraws. Clarke gives a sleepy hum, rolling over onto her side and burying her face in Lexa’s pillow.

 

“Hey…” slurs Clarke when Lexa turns to leave; she turns back to see her nuzzling into the pillow, golden hair fanning out behind her. “This...smells like…”

 

She must be able to smell Costia too, realizes Lexa. Every part of her softens at the small, sleepy smile curving Clarke’s lips before she sighs, visibly sinking into sleep. Lexa observes her a moment longer, before she backs out of the room.

 

Her bare feet pad against the hallway floor as she makes her way into the living room. Relief has flooded through every inch of her. Clarke is here, and safe, and if she’s angry at Lexa for missing the appointment and taking so long to make up her mind, she’s not angry enough to give her the cold shoulder. She’s not angry enough to not want to have anything to do with her.

 

Lexa cleans up the tear-soaked tissues and grabs a blanket, climbing onto the couch. She digs the remote out of the cushion, and then— her heart pangs— a neon pink scrunchie. She leaves it around her wrist and stares up at the ceiling in the dim light leaking in from the streetlamp outside the window, listening to the distant sound of Clarke’s steady breathing. Longing swells within Lexa, though she’s not sure what it’s for. She feels lonely and touch starved and she just wishes Costia or even Anya, Gustus, _any_ one— were here to hold her hand and tell her everything is going to be okay. She chastises herself for it a moment later. She’s really let herself get soft over the years. Once upon a time, she was alone, and she got by just fine. She did it then, she can do it now.

 

It takes her hours to fall asleep but finally she succumbs to it, breathing in sync with the girl sleeping just down the hall.

 

//

 

Lexa wakes far too early, as usual. It’s hardly after five in the morning; the sun has yet to rise, but she does, sitting up on the couch and scrubbing her hands over her face. She can already tell she’s not going to be able to fall back asleep. She looks for her phone but realizes she left it in the bedroom, and she doesn’t want to disturb Clarke.

 

With nothing much else to do, she lays there for a time just staring up at the ceiling before switching a lamp on and grabbing one of the new books she was gifted for her birthday. She reads for an hour and a half before growing restless. There has to be something she can do...

 

After a quick lurk outside her bedroom to ensure Clarke is still snoozing soundly, Lexa gets to work. Scrambled eggs (mostly because she accidentally broke the yolk for the over easy eggs she knows Clarke likes), bacon (perhaps a bit too crispy; she knows Clarke likes them squishier), and toast. The only thing she’s confident on is the toast.

 

Clarke wakes up around the time Lexa is pouring apple juice into two chipped mugs. Clarke shuffles into the living room wrapped in a blanket burrito, wild hair exploding from the top of the blanket where her head pokes out, and collapses onto the couch. She blinks blearily at Lexa when she approaches her, arms laden with plates of far too much food for two people, and she smiles when Lexa drops a plate of bacon and egg into her lap, followed by a hefty stack of toast.

 

“I tried my best,” she says feebly as Clarke eyes the slightly burnt toast, her smile curling into a smirk. “The eggs might be…a little salty.”

 

“Just a little?” rasps Clarke, voice thick with sleep.

 

Lexa nods, stomach squirming, probably in anticipation of Clarke trying her food.

 

“Delicious,” manages Clarke a few minutes later, cheeks bulging with bacon.

 

Sunlight leaks in through the open blinds, and the bustle of the city can be heard as it wakes. Lexa’s apartment isn’t silent for once, broken by the quiet sounds of cutlery and shifting bodies.

 

“Did you sleep well?” asks Lexa.

 

Clarke nods. “Did you? I feel bad you slept on the couch in your own home. I should have slept there.”

 

“No way.” Lexa offers her the ghost of a smile. “You’re pregnant, Clarke.”

 

Clarke snorts in amusement, face slightly pink as she piles a spoonful of egg onto her toast. “That doesn’t mean I can’t survive a night on a couch. I feel fine, anyway.”

 

“Do you?” Clarke looks up at her at that, and Lexa looks down at her eggs, face warming. She’s been desperate to ask, especially after a late night and early morning imagining all kinds of things. Pregnancy is such a huge commitment, one Lexa has never particularly desired to experience herself even if she didn’t have a poorly shaped uterus. She hopes Clarke doesn’t regret it. “I mean. How are you doing?”

 

Clarke’s lips twitch and Lexa just knows she’s dying to mock Lexa. Probably by repeating her sentence with a Joey Tribbiani inflection, like she’s done several times over the past several years. “I’m doing fine, like I said.”

 

“You’re...coping okay?”

 

Clarke seems to realize what Lexa is getting at then, and her expression settles, the light amusement leaving her eyes. Lexa misses it at once, guilty she caused it to go away.

 

“I miss her,” says Clarke simply, shrugging. “And being pregnant is scary. But I’m okay.” She shoots her a small smile. “Thanks for asking.”

 

Lexa opens her mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to thank her, before noticing that lately it seems to be all they’re doing. Telling each other not to say thanks or say sorry. By the wryness brightening Clarke’s eyes, she seems to have arrived at the same conclusion. They hold a gaze that channels amusement before looking back down at their plates. 

They finish their meal and Lexa begins to sober up, the joy of cooking Clarke an edible breakfast fading as she remembers the seriousness of the situation. Clarke notices the mood has shifted, a furrow appearing in her brow as she chews and swallows down the last of her food.

 

“What made you change your mind?” asks Clarke curiously. Lexa knows exactly what she means, but Clarke still adds, “I thought you were going to talk to Shannon and Leo…”

 

“I did, and that’s actually what changed it,” says Lexa with faint wryness. “It’s like what you said after my party. You were right.”

Clarke’s eyes brighten as slowly and deliberately as the way her lips curve up at the corners. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” She actually laughs when Lexa gives her a sour look, and the sound reverberates in Lexa’s lungs, filling her with elation and the most fragile relief. Clarke _is_ okay, she’s even laughing. “I just need to hear that again, coming out of Lexa Woods’ mouth.”

 

“That’s all you get,” says Lexa with faux sternness, failing to curb her own smile at Clarke’s small grin.

 

“Okay, okay, continue. Please. So what was I right about this time?”

 

Lexa shakes her head with an exasperated smile, but she goes on. “What you said about me just trying not to feel.” Clarke’s smile slips away, replaced by a sober sadness as she listens with rapt attention. “I never expected to have to do this on my own, without her. And it breaks my heart that she won’t be able to do this, because it’s all she’s ever wanted,” adds Lexa, swallowing thickly around the lump in her throat; Clarke swallows too, her eyes filling and her chin wobbling. Lexa falters now, mouth opening and closing. She’s not comfortable opening up and talking about her feelings. But, she looks at Clarke and she remembers that Clarke isn’t comfortable with that either. It’s something the two of them always had in common; Costia was the one who was comfortable talking about emotions, and she often joked that she was a masochist for getting herself best friends for whom talking about their feelings was the equivalent of pulling teeth. It’s a strangely bolstering notion; if roles were somehow reversed, Clarke would be struggling here too, and Lexa would be patiently waiting for her to gather the courage. Clarke looks at her expectantly, softly, and Lexa pushes herself to do it.

 

“Making the decision to step forward and do this, it was like accepting that this is all real and happening, that Costia is really gone and...and she’s not coming back,” Lexa confesses. “I suppose… I just wanted to close myself off, and there’s no way to do that when you’re looking at nurturing a child. I went to Shan and Leo’s to tell them that I wanted them to have it, but then I went into Costia’s room and all I could see was the baby there. Costia’s childhood was so different than mine and I want that, I want to be able to give that to someone. I saw Sushi the elephant on Costia’s bed and it felt like it was her, like it was a sign. This baby...Cos and I made it. I want to give it a good life, the best that I can, I want to love it and tell it about Costia and bring it into a world that’s a little bit better because of Costia having been in it. Clarke, I want to do this. I want to do it for the baby and for Cos and...and for me.”

 

Clarke seems speechless for a moment, lips parted but nothing coming out. She extends her arm to put a hand over Lexa’s, warm and comforting.  “Lex...

 

Lexa fights back the tears; she’s sick and tired of crying. “Shan helped too. We talked for a while and she— she basically told me that she’s here to help and she thinks I’ll be a great mother. I don’t know about that, but— “

 

“I totally agree,” interrupts Clarke. “You know you’re great with kids, right?”

 

Lexa lifts one shoulder and lets it fall, a bit helplessly.

 

“Come on, you are! I’ve watched you over the years, you know, you’ve always been great with them. Tris worships you, Artie and Nyko think you’re the coolest thing since sliced bread, Ethan says you’re his best friend.”

 

“Ethan says everyone is his best friend.”

 

“Still,” insists Clarke, eyes sparkling. Lexa can’t help but smile slightly in the face of her relentlessness. “I really, honestly think you’re going to be so good at this.”

 

She’s probably just saying that to be nice and encouraging. Lexa just...how could she be good at it when she has no idea what she’s doing and what to expect? She’s already read a dozen books on pregnancy and children and raising them, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that she herself didn’t even spend half a childhood with a mother, so how can she know what do?

 

Clarke’s eyes narrow at her like she knows that Lexa thinks she’s just humoring her. “Lexa, I promise, I’m not just saying it to make you feel better or anything. I swear, I really do think you’ll be great. I pinky promise.” She lifts her hand with a pinky extended. Her lips quirk when Lexa’s do, but she fights to straighten them out and hold a serious expression.

 

They’d made few pinky promises between them throughout the years— Lexa could probably count the amount on one hand, and can’t even remember their details except Clarke had honored every one. One, she remembers, was Clarke pinkying that she hadn’t been the one who stole Lexa’s leftover Thai food from the fridge in their shared apartment, and they’d later found out it had been Raven. But Lexa had seen Clarke make a hundred pinky promises with Costia, and some of them, she noticed, had been a stretch to call honest.

 

“I know how you are, Griffin,” she grouses, but reaching over to playfully hook a pinky around hers nevertheless. “Don’t think I forget that time you pinky-promised Costia that you wouldn’t get her those tickets for Christmas and then you turned around and got it for her for her birthday.”

 

“That was a loophole,” says Clarke, unable to prevent the slow curl to her lips. “I still told the truth.”

 

“Not all of the truth.”

 

“But I didn’t lie!”

 

“All of the truth is most important,” says Lexa with an arched brow. Clarke looks away at that, pressing her lips together to curb her smile and rolling her eyes.

 

“All right, fine. I pinky times two.” She laughs when Lexa just deadpans her.

 

“Is that supposed to be better?”

 

“Times a hundred!” exclaims Clarke. Lexa shrugs and makes to withdraw her hand, but Clarke tightens her pinky around hers, laughing again. “Times a million?”

 

“That’s still limited.”

 

“Times infinity!”

 

Lexa narrows her eyes in consideration. “And _no_ loopholes?”

 

“No loopholes,” Clarke playfully agrees. “I pinky infinity no loopholes.”

 

Lexa gently squeezes her pinky when Clarke does, holding it and her gaze for a moment before dropping them both.

 

“Honestly,” says Clarke after a moment. “You’ll be amazing.”

 

Lexa wishes the words could sink into her, could live inside her long enough for her to truly consider them. All she can think about is her lack of experience and lack of examples.

 

“I’m glad I have Shannon and Abby to talk to about this,” she admits quietly. She wants to say why, wants to admit that she wishes she had her own mother around, but she doesn’t.

 

“See, it’s like I told you.” Clarke settles back into the couch with an easy smile. “We’re all here for you every step of the way.”

 

//

 

They spend most of the morning together. After Lexa assures Clarke her presence is not a bother, Clarke puts something on Netflix and they sit on the couch for a couple hours in relative silence that’s not so heavy for once. It almost feels like it did before, when— when Costia was still alive. It feels like it did when Clarke would come over and Costia wasn’t home from work yet so Clarke just waited around with Lexa, the two of them comfortable just sharing one another’s space without a need to fill it with chatter.

 

Things aren’t the same, though.

 

There was no jangling of keys at the door as Costia returned home. No delicious aroma wafting through the house as she puttered about in the kitchen. No laughter shook the walls as she sat squished between Lexa and Clarke while the three of them watched a movie. The cold comes creeping back in like icy wind through a cracked window and Lexa tries her best to shake it off. She can’t be like that now.

 

Clarke notices, shifting on the couch to take in the way Lexa has stiffened, angles of her face settling into a frown.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

Lexa tries to grasp at some form of optimism. The tv drones on, birds chirping beyond the window. Lexa curls into herself, arms crossed and hands clutching at her own elbows, shoulders taut with tension. “Everything, I suppose. I have a lot to do. I’ve...I’ve spent the last month hiding from everything and now I need to get it together, now that I’m— I’m having a baby.”

 

“You’re having a baby,” agrees Clarke with a smile, setting the television remote down on the table. “And I’m going to hug you now, okay?”

 

Lexa’s nodding and extending her arms before Clarke has even finished and pulled her into a hug. Longing has her wrapping her arms more tightly around Clarke, taking care not to press too firmly against her stomach. It doesn’t feel any different against hers. At that thought Lexa pulls back abruptly, blinking down at it. Clarke tilts her head, curious, and when she realizes what Lexa is doing she stands and grips the hem of her shirt, lifting it up to show a pale, mostly flat belly.

“I’m not showing yet,” she says, voice quiet and a little rough with emotion, the air tense with it. “Jackson says I probably won’t until around week twelve or so, but everyone’s different.”

“Maybe a little here,” says Lexa without thinking, and she reaches out to touch her finger to the underside of Clarke’s belly where it curves just a little. She freezes, all the blood rushing to her face, when she realizes what she’s done.

“Oh.” Clarke laughs and it makes Lexa flush harder. “That would just be the, uh, bacon we just had for breakfast.” She gives Lexa a crooked grin that has her shoulders slumping a bit in relief, no longer panicked she may have just offended Clarke. “That’s my bacon baby.”

“I’m sorry,” offers Lexa, tired and feeling foolish. If she were her usual self, she never would have done such a thing. But she hasn’t felt herself for weeks now. “I’m…”

“It’s okay,” says Clarke easily, waving it away as if it were nothing. To her credit, her cheeks are only a little bit pink as she glances down at the finger still pressed to her stomach; Lexa realizes and drops her arm, and Clarke drops her shirt down, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles out with her palms. “Seriously. Not a big deal at all.”

There’s an awkward pause as Clarke sits back down and Lexa bows her head, trying to look anywhere but at Clarke, but it doesn’t work. Her gaze slides back to Clarke without preamble, zeroing in on her stomach as though Lexa’s eyes function as a walking ultrasound and she can see the fetus inside. It blows her mind. Their baby is in there. If Costia were here, she’d be leaping for joy, champagne all over the place. Lexa’s heart plunges at the thought.

 

As though reading  her mind, Clarke jumps to her feet. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot!” She walks over to the fridge and returns with a full, new bottle of champagne— the expensive kind that Costia had insisted they buy for this very occasion.

 

“I can’t drink it with you,” says Clarke wryly with a crooked smile, “But I guess I can watch you drink it and live vicariously through you. Want a glass?”

 

Lexa expels air from her nostrils in amusement, glancing at the clock if only to stall. “At nine in the morning, Clarke?”

 

Clarke shrugs, smile evening to stretch wide across her pretty face. “So? Be a rebel.”

 

Lexa doesn’t respond, long enough that Clarke’s smile falters before slipping away. Lexa can’t bear to leave her hanging. “I haven’t drank,” she admits. “Not since…”

 

Clarke blinks, mouth falling open. “Oh. Right. God. That’s— yeah, that— that makes sense. Shit. I’m— “

 

“Don’t apologize,” says Lexa, the warning in her tone softened by the slight huff of laughter she gives. Clarke looks sheepish.

 

“So...I’ll just...take this home, then,” she says, awkwardly setting the bottle down on the countertop. “My mom will probably take it. Actually, better idea, I’ll give it to Shan and Leo! To congratulate them on becoming grandparents.” Clarke smiles at the idea, then tilts her head as a new thought occurs to her, looking at Lexa. “Did you tell them?” Lexa nods. “How did they react? Were they excited?”

 

“They were.” Lexa pauses. “Also devastated, understandably. But Rojay is really excited to be an uncle.”

 

Clarke’s smile softens. “He’ll be a great one. Just like you’ll be a great mom.”

 

 _I hope so,_ thinks Lexa. It makes her nervous. Her mother was a single parent too...Lexa isn’t sure whether or not it’s a comforting thought. She doesn’t remember as much of her mother as she’d like, and the only thing she has left from her is a red scarf and a box of old letters, but Lexa knows her mother loved her, and tried her best. And she’d been mostly alone. Just like Lexa will be.

 

“You’re not alone,” blurts Clarke suddenly, and seriously, it’s like she can read Lexa’s mind. Clarke looks taken aback at herself for the raw emotion in her voice, self-consciously reaching up to drag a hand through messy blonde tresses. “You have all of our support. Mine, obviously, and Anya’s, and Rae’s and my mom and Linc and O and everyone. We’re here for you, every step of the way. Okay?”

Lexa presses her lips together, swallows. Nods. “I know. I…” She wishes she had the words adequate enough to express her gratitude for everyone in her life. The past month has been the hardest of her life and even though she’s spent it wanting to be alone, knowing the others are out there, thinking of her, looking out for her…it means everything.

“I won’t pretend to know what it’s been like for you the past few weeks,” says Clarke in a voice as soft as her gaze. “I can understand on some level, but losing a partner is a whole different ball game compared to losing a parent.” She reaches out when Lexa’s eyes brim over at that, at hearing it aloud, and the way she tucks a curl of Lexa’s hair behind her ear is almost apologetic. “And I know you’re feeling empty inside, and tired, and all you want is to be alone. We’ll give you all the space you need. But just know that we’re all here waiting for you. Anything you need, you don’t even have to ask. We’re there. We’ll be here for you for this baby, too. This baby will be so loved, just like you are.”

“Thank you,” says Lexa hoarsely. She clears her throat and her fingers twitch to hold Clarke’s hands, or touch her arm, or _something_ to emphasize her attention before she says what she’s about to say, but she holds off because it just feels overwhelming. All of this does. She opens her mouth, fully intending to open up to Clarke, to express all her fervent gratitude and her relief and just how grateful she is for having her, for everything she’s done for her, and that she’s here for her too. “I…”

 

But the words get stuck in her throat and die there. She has never been good at this. She doesn’t know how to claw back the walls and show vulnerability, and all she’s done the past month is show vulnerability, and it’s too much. It’s all way too much.

 

She can’t be like this anymore. She has a pregnant woman to look after and a baby on the way. A child she’ll eventually be raising. She has to snap out of this and get it together.

 

“I...I’m going to call work,” she decides.

 

Clarke cocks her head, puzzlement flickering over her face; evidently it’s not what she expected Lexa to say.

 

“I— okay,” she says, a bit bewildered. “What for?”

 

Lexa blinks. “To return.”

 

Clarke’s eyes widen. “You think you’re ready to go back to work?”

 

Lexa’s brow furrows. “You think I’m not?”

 

“I mean...no.” When Lexa stares at her, bemused, Clarke raises her brows and says, “You’ve been out of work for a month. That’s not long at all, Lexa. Why do you want to go back, are you worried they’re upset? Because I can guarantee you they’re not. They’ll give you much more time than this to grieve.”

 

“I’ve grieved enough,” says Lexa, looking away from Clarke’s mildly alarmed face to observe her home. Only two weeks ago it had been an utter mess. Wouldn’t take much more to return it to that state. She doesn’t want to go there again. “I have a child on the way. There are more important things now.”

 

“The most important thing is your health,” says Clarke slowly, as though she’s spelling it out for her. It should irritate Lexa; that sort of stuff usually did. But she feels only mildly exasperated as she meets Clarke’s gaze. “Lexa, you can take all the time you need, you shouldn’t feel like you have to—”

 

“I have a child on the way,” repeats Lexa, firmly holding Clarke’s disapproving gaze. “I need to work, I need to make money to care for my child and to take care of your medical bills and—”

 

Clarke makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a _tsk_. “You know money is not an issue here.”

 

Now Lexa is irritated. Because yes, she does know money is not an issue; Clarke has more of it than she knows what to do with, and Lexa has plenty herself that she’s saved up, and with Costia’s life insurance, money really isn’t even a concern anymore. But it’s the principle of the whole matter. This is what they agreed upon.

 

“I didn’t say it was,” says Lexa calmly, fighting down the flare of annoyance. She looks up to meet Clarke’s gaze, sees the concern disguised beneath disapproval, and deflates with a sigh. “I just want to do this. Don’t you think it’s healthy to return to a routine I’m comfortable with?”

 

Clarke tilts her head, regards her with thoughtful suspicion as though she doesn’t want to consider that might be right. For one bizarre moment, it almost makes Lexa want to smile; Clarke has always been so stubborn. “I guess you need to do what’s right for you,” says Clarke finally. “Just...make sure you aren’t pushing yourself too hard. Like I said before, you can’t just get _over_ stuff like this. You have to get _through_ it.”

 

Lexa bites her tongue at the urge to snap; it’s not Clarke, she knows, that’s causing anxiety and guilt to twist in her stomach. Clarke has been an amazing friend. Lexa closes her eyes, takes a deep breath in. Exhales it slowly.

 

“I know,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to...I don’t mean to upset everyone so much.”

 

She still doesn’t open her eyes, even when she feels a soft hand on her forearm, holding her gently. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I’m just giving you all so much pain. You, Anya, Lincoln— everyone is already hurting and then I’m making it worse. Like— it’s like I could barely take care of myself, and I could see myself doing that, not doing enough, but couldn’t find the energy to do it anyway, and I see how it’s hurting everyone around me, I see how tired it’s making you all and I’m just so sorry that I— “

 

“Stop,” says Clarke, sharply enough it renders Lexa silent. She still refuses to open her eyes; she doesn’t want to see what’s in Clarke’s eyes right now. “Lexa, we’re all one big family. Okay? I don’t— yeah, everyone’s tired, but not of you. I’m tired _for_ you. I hate that this has happened, it’s— it’s not fair. Not fair to Costia, not fair to you, or her parents or her brother or anyone. I hate that you’re hurting and that there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make it hurt less, we all know that and we all hate that. But you are not hurting anyone.”

 

Lexa stiffens, heart thudding as the softest of touches grazes her ear; Clarke has just tucked a curl of hair behind it. Lexa swallows thickly, resisting the urge to shift, to betray the jittery jumping of her heart. So touch starved. She swears she has been her entire life, but why is it so much more noticeable now? Now that she’s had more time to pay attention to it. She has to get back to work. She has to regain some sense of normalcy. She has to move on or she’s never going to crawl out of this dark hole.

 

“You’re hurting too,” whispers Lexa, reaching up to grasp Clarke’s wrist and holding tight when Clarke jolts away on instinct. Lexa still hasn’t opened her eyes. “And I know you like talking about your feelings about as much as I do. But you’re going to have to open up one day, you can’t keep everything inside. And when you do...I’m here for you.”

 

“Lexa, I’m fine.” Her hand twists in Lexa’s grip until suddenly they’re once again grasping each other’s forearms. Lexa doesn’t understand how it’s so comforting and so frustrating at the same time. “Don’t worry about me.”

 

“Promise that you’ll talk to me when you’re not feeling fine, though?”

 

Clarke makes a noise, something close to exasperation, but like it’s covering up for something more. She’s unnerved, perhaps. “I promise. But seriously. I’m _fine._ ”

 

“Clarke.”

 

“Lexa.”

 

Lexa finally opens her eyes to meet deep blue, soft and maddeningly determined. “I…” She doesn’t know how to say it. She doesn’t know how to push down these walls.

 

They both jolt where there’s suddenly a loud rapping on the door. They release each other’s arms like they’ve been burned and turn to stare at the door as though half wondering whether they imagined it.

 

Another knock.

 

Lexa exchanges a puzzled frown with Clarke as she rises to get the door. She’s not sure who it could be considering everyone they know is at work right now. She unlocks the door and pulls it open and freezes the moment she takes in the huge man towering in the frame. Garbed in combat boots and a worn leather jacket, the sorrow on his bearded face is the actually most imposing thing about him at the moment.

 

“Gustus?” says Lexa blankly.

 

“Lexa,” he rumbles, voice heavy, eyes soft with it. It makes Lexa feel weak with the overwhelming relief his unexpected presence brings her; her vision suddenly blurs with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

 

 _“Dad.”_ He drops the bag he’s carrying in time to catch her as she falls forward into his arms.

 

//

 

“Hello Clarke,” says Gustus, peering into the apartment above Lexa’s head to spot Clarke hovering in the living room, watching with a sad smile.

 

“Hi Gus. I didn’t know you were back.”

 

“Just arrived today.” He rubs Lexa’s back as she cries. “I wish I could have been here sooner.”

 

“You’re here now, that's what's important,” says Clarke, eyes lingering on the way Lexa’s shoulders shake with her shudders. Her stomach clenches unpleasantly. She hates how much Lexa has been hurting.

 

“I’ll head out then. Give you guys some time alone.”

 

Lexa twists around to look at her, hastily scrubbing the back of her hand across her stained cheeks. “Wait, Clarke— “

 

“Text me later,” Clarke tells her. “Your phone is working now, right?” When Lexa nods, she smiles softly. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

 

Lexa’s eyes are so wide and vulnerable, a lighter, brighter green from her tears. Clarke can’t hold them. Her palms sweat as she drags her gaze away, turning to collect her things. She slips into the bathroom and takes a moment for herself, trying to tune out the quiet crying as Lexa struggles to speak to Gustus, and the low baritone as he murmurs back condolences and reassurances. Clarke’s mind begins to run away with itself— what’s been going on? She thought Gustus was deployed and in the dark, so how is he here now? He clearly knew so...did Lexa talk to him? Or, she realizes with dawning comprehension, did Anya somehow contact him?

 

 _Anya,_ she confirms a second later, hearing Gustus inform Lexa how she contacted him and told him everything and _don’t be upset at her, it may not have been her place but she was worried about you,_ and how it took a while to gain approval to get leave but now here he is and _I’m so sorry, Lexa,_ and _I know I wasn’t there before but I’m here now. Let me be here for you—_

 

And that’s all it takes for tears to prick at Clarke’s eyes and remind her that she’s basically eavesdropping right now. She shakes her head to clear it and tries to tune out their voices as she gathers her things, puts away the spare toothbrush Lexa had given her this morning.

 

Clarke slips out of the bathroom, grabs her bag and begins quietly making her way across the room. Lexa and Gustus both rise to their feet from the couch and Clarke just puts her head down and hurries on, not wanting to interrupt— and, truthfully, wanting to escape the emotion in the room, the intimacy, the vulnerability.

 

“Wait, Clarke,” Lexa calls out, voice scratchy. Clarke pauses halfway to the door, arm suspended in the air where she was reaching for the doorknob, twisting her head around to look at them.

 

Lexa takes a second to gather herself, chest visibly rising with the inhale of breath she takes as she clasps her hands behind her back. She looks at Clarke for a second, tilting her head and looking at her with meaning in her eyes, and it only takes Clarke a moment to realize what Lexa’s about to do. She drops her arm automatically, instinctively leading her hand to her stomach. She thinks she and Lexa both swallow at the same time, before Lexa directs her steady gaze onto her father.

 

“You’re going to be a grandfather.”

 

Gustus’s eyes go comically wide, enough that it has Clarke biting back a smile to see this giant, wild-looking man looking so absolutely floored. He looks between the two of them with growing shock before finally stuttering, “You’re— I’m gonna be— she’s—it worked? She’s— she’s?”

 

Then Clarke watches as he sails down the same devastating train of thought they had all already gone through a month ago. Elation that the IVF worked, horror that Costia isn’t here for it, that she won’t ever be here for any of it, including the child’s life.

 

He visibly struggles for words, staring helplessly between Lexa and Clarke, who are both failing to fight the tears. Finally, he just shakes his head and manages to say a gruff “Come here,” opening his arms. Lexa falls into them and Clarke doesn’t move for a moment, uncertain, but Lexa and Gustus both look at her, each lifting an arm, reaching out for her. Clarke sniffles and drops her bag and crosses the room to meet them.

 

Clarke doesn’t know Gustus very well; she hasn’t been around him very much. She knows he and Lexa’s history mostly through Costia, and tiny pieces Lexa has revealed to her. That Lexa never knew her father and her mother died when she was a child, that she met Anya in the system and the two of them stuck through countless foster homes together. That when Lexa was sixteen she somehow discovered the identity of her father, and it took another year before she managed to find a way to contact him, and then a month before she actually met him. He never even knew she existed, but he still tried his best to fill a role he never expected to. The few times Clarke met him, he was always kind and respectful; he reminded her of Lincoln in a way, though perhaps more so on the intimidating side than Lincoln, but still a big teddy bear.

 

He smells like linen and cologne and Clarke isn’t sure if it’s that or the comforting warmth of his broad embrace that reminds her of her father. She clutches back, one arm wrapped around Lexa’s slim waist, the other halfway round Gustus’s wide, muscled back, and presses her face into his broad chest, head slightly resting against Lexa’s, whose arm hooks around Clarke’s waist and whose hand splays out against her side, fingertips only just pressing into the slight swell of her stomach.

 

Clarke leans into her touch and squeezes her eyes shut tightly and holds on, holds on, holds on.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> _I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map_
> 
> _And knew that somehow I could find my way back_
> 
> _Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too_
> 
> _So I stayed in the darkness with you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this chapter was pretty light in comparison to the others? I know it's fairly short and not much happens here beyond them talking in Lexa's apartment, but I felt like it was needed. They needed a talk (however short and careful, considering they're not super close yet beyond their unspoken bond and they're both quite guarded people, but don't worry, they'll get there). A bit of a reprieve before we go on that lovely roller coaster that is grieving and moving forward.
> 
> I promise fluffier times are on the horizon! Clexabookmarks is my witness. She HATES angst and lives for fluff, that sappy ho.
> 
> Update 08/17: Don't worry, this fic is not nor will it ever be abandoned. Life has been busy and in the little time I have had to write, I've just been a bit stuck. Hopefully once I settle in with my new job and things calm down a bit, I'll be back at it! :) Hope life is going well for you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Follow the blog clexa-surrogacy-au for more info, teaser snippets, and any questions you may have! I also make social media edits and other stuff for this fic. 
> 
> *waves Clexa flag and retreats*


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